


Crumbling Walls

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Batfamily (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Jason has come to a comfortable arrangement with his family - he tolerates them and everyone stays in their lane. Then  lanes cross and everything crumbles. Rebuilding is needed, and Jason's going to do that on his own damned terms, no matter what anyone else says.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Batfamily - Relationship, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 114
Kudos: 960





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to @orderlychaos -- this fic is so much better thanks to their beta help.

Tim was driving as fast as he could, which was pretty damned fast, but Damian was still growling at him, “Hurry up, Drake. Faster.” 

“M’okay,” Jason mumbled from the backseat, and Tim spared a glance in the rearview mirror. 

That was a mistake. Blood spilled down Jason’s forehead even though Dami had a towel from the med kit and was wiping it, and Jason’s breaths were coming in shallow gasps. 

Jason added, “Might throw up, though,” like an afterthought. 

Tim stepped harder on the gas pedal. He winced when he heard retching. 

“Concussion for sure,” Damian was saying into the comms. “Stitches will be required, and he’s favoring his right side as well.” He paused, listening. “I think standard Cave medical will suffice. He’s lucid.” 

“Fucking right, m’lucid,” Jason said. “Clear as a fucking, oh shitttt,” he added, and there was more retching. What a mess.

Tim tried not to screech the tires as they pulled to a stop in the Cave because Bruce really hated when they did it unnecessarily, but today might count as an exception. Jason has only been in the Cave a couple of times since making up with Bruce, and he definitely hasn’t been hurt. Tim stopped the car, and Alfred was there immediately, pulling Jason out of the car and onto a rolling stretcher. Damian climbed out after him and scowled down at his uniform. It was covered in blood and some vomit, too.

“Go change your clothes and decontaminate, and then help me clean this up,” Tim said, shoving Dami toward the showers. 

“We should make Todd clean it up,” Damian muttered as he stomped off to the showers. 

“Come back and help me, Damian, or I’ll let Alfred the Cat sleep with me the next five times I sleep over here,” Tim called after him.

The cat likes Tim a lot for some dumb reason. It may also be because his room doesn’t have any of Damian’s other animals allowed in it, so the cat gets some peace. It usually works to get Tim what he wants from his little brother, so he doesn’t really care why it works. 

“Timothy!” Alfred called, and petty thoughts vanished. He sprinted over to the med bay.

Alfred had managed to get Jason onto a bed, but he was having trouble with the sutures because there was so much blood. “Head wounds,” he said to Tim, so Tim stepped close and took the sterile towel from Alfred’s hand and leaned over Jason. “Please keep pressure on that while I deal with the bullet wound in your brother’s side.” 

Tim nodded and looked down at Jason, who was breathing way too shallowly for Tim’s tastes. 

“You’ve done a number on yourself tonight, Master Jason. Count to one hundred for me, please. This will allow the local anesthetic to take hold while I gather what I need.” 

It would also help keep Jason awake. 

Earlier that night, when Tim, Dick, Damian and Bruce had arrived on the scene at Babs’ insistence, the fight with the metahuman had already gone too far for Jason to handle. Jason had managed to keep the guy from entering the office building, but Tim and the others arrived just in time to see Jason hurled against the brick wall of the building hard enough to shatter his Red Hood helmet. The second it took them to assess the situation was enough for the meta to grab Jason again and throw him against a nearby dumpster, hard enough to knock him out. 

Red Robin, Nightwing, Batman, and Robin all at once were too much for the meta, though, and they wrestled him to the ground in under a minute. Bruce had directed the younger boys to get their brother to Alfred for help while he and Dick held the meta until the police could get there with stronger bonds than their usual cuffs. Getting Jason to the Batmobile had been a challenge because there was so much blood and Jason was clearly too out of it to do much more than weave his way to the car. 

Now Jason counted with his eyes pinched shut as Alfred gathered sutures and cleaning supplies and wheeled back to Jason’s side. “Master Timothy, pause your pressure and cut away the uniform, here,” he said, pointing to the tear at Jason’s side.

Tim obeyed and then went back to wiping the blood from Jason’s face. The local anesthetic was definitely kicking in as he did so, and Jason’s breathing finally evened out.

Alfred narrated as he worked, like he always did. “It’s not a deep wound, Master Jason. A good graze, though. You were fortunate tonight. I’m cleaning it at the moment. What on earth managed to shatter your helmet, though, if I may ask?” 

“Fucking metahuman trying to get revenge on his boss,” Jason gritted out.

“Language,” Alfred chastised as he worked, and Tim kept his eyes on Jason’s face as Alfred expertly cleaned and closed the wound. Jason winced with the last suture, and then he relaxed again, and Alfred put a clean bandage over the wound and put the tools away. 

Tim wiped more blood away to reveal tired bruising under Jason’s eyes, the pinched line of his lips going slack as Jason started to fall asleep under the ministrations. Tim needed to keep him awake. “Jay, Dami says you should clean up the Batmobile since you’re the one who got sick in it,” he said with a wry grin. 

“He’s such a punk,” Jason muttered, but he opened his eyes again. 

Jason’s pupils were a little off. Tim wiped the blood from Jason’s face again and Alfred leaned over with new sutures in his hand. 

“One more minute, Master Jason,” Alfred said, and expertly stitched the skin above Jason’s right eye and almost all the way up his forehead. He might have a new scar there, on a body already covered in way too many.

By the time Alfred finished, Jason was blinking slowly and clearly fading. “We’ll get you moved upstairs before you go to sleep for a bit, all right?” Alfred said, and then to Tim, “If you would go up and set up the IV stand in the front guestroom, it will be easier than getting him up the stairs to the family bedrooms.”

“No, no, no, no,” Jason groaned, and through some extra adrenaline push he managed to sit up a little before blanching and laying back down. “Not going upstairs. Al, I’m not fucking going upstairs.”

“Jason,” Alfred said, dropping the title and frowning. “You need to rest. I’m not sending you home like this.” 

Jason trembled as he curled his fists into Alfred’s jacket.

“No. No no no no. I’m not going upstairs. Lemme stay down here. Not upstairs.” 

“I’ll stay with him, Alfred,” Tim said quietly, and Alfred paused for a moment before closing his eyes briefly and then nodding. 

“I’d feel better if we gave him an IV for antibiotics and hydration, and then we’ll need to keep him until the afternoon for concussion monitoring,” Alfred said, and it was then that Bruce and Dick careened into the Cave on Dick’s motorcycle. Alfred clapped Tim on the shoulder. “You go help clean up the car, Master Tim, and then get a shower. We’ll assess the situation after that.” 

Tim nodded and headed back to the gross Batmobile. As Bruce and Dick climbed off the bike, Dick called to Tim. 

“How’s the Jaybird?”

Tim shrugged. “Refusing to go up to the Manor again. Al’s gonna let him stay down here for observation and then someone’ll have to give him a lift home tomorrow after we make sure his concussion is okay.” 

Bruce frowned and headed for the med bay. He stood with Alfred outside the bay, stealing glances at Jason as they talked. Tim sighed and headed for the cleaning closet.

<><><><><><><><><>

The first time Dick found one of Jason’s safehouses, anger washed over Jason and he gave Dick a black eye, threw him bodily out the window and then proceeded to pack up his three duffel bags worth of belongings and find a new place. When Tim found that one a few months later, Jason held off on blackening Tim’s eye, but he still threw Tim out a window too, and packed up and moved.

Then Dick found him again. Tim found him again after that. When Damian found him too, Jason cussed him out, took a few deep breaths, and then offered him tea. Dami’s the only one who really appreciated it the way Alfred would be proud of, so Jason was willing to share.

He’d been in the same apartment for three months now and finally figured it was good to have brothers willing to come by and bitch about Bruce and Gotham with him. Also, he was tired of moving.

“Where is your baking soda?” Damian asked as he pulled a container of cinnamon out of the cupboard one night.

“One cupboard over,” Jason mumbled as he weighed the benefits of opening his eyes and lifting his head from where he had it cradled on the breakfast bar. “Cookie sheets are next to the sink.”

“Jay,” Dick said as he rubbed Jason’s back just under his neck, “Go back to bed. We’ll wake you when they’re ready.” 

Jason cracked one eye open. “Promise?”

Dick smiled and ruffled Jason’s hair this time. “Yeah,” he says. “Come on.”

Jason stood, but the cold he’d been fighting for three days had gone straight to his head and he swayed a bit. Dick grabbed his elbow and steadied him. 

“You shouldn’t have gone out tonight,” Tim sing-songed from the couch where he was working on his computer.

“You shouldn’t have gotten that haircut,” Jason called back as Dick guided him to his bedroom and pressed him into his bed. 

“Don’t be a jerk,” Dick said, but he smiled and brushed Jason’s hair out of his eyes. “You want some water and Tylenol before you close your eyes? I think you have a low-grade fever.” 

“Don’t use your hand,” Jason muttered, and now that he was in his bed he wasn’t sure he even cared about cookies anymore, even the Egyptian sweet cookies that Damian has proven excellent at making.

“What?”

“Bruce says you should use your wrist instead. Something about skin temperatures. I dunno.” 

Dick’s grin widened and he pressed his wrist to Jason’s forehead. “Okay. You still feel warm,” he said and his grin melted into a frown. “You have a thermometer?” 

“Just give me a couple Tylenol, Dickie. It’s in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Tim! Go grab the Tylenol from the bathroom!” Dick called.

“I told you he was sick,” Tim answered, and Jason closed his eyes to the sound of Tim stomping over to the bathroom. “Take his temperature!”

“Holy fuck, will someone just give me some aspirin?” Jason grumbled. His head was starting to hurt, too. 

Tim wandered back into the room and put a few aspirin in Jason’s hand and handed him a Gatorade. “You should drink all of that, too,” he said, and walked out before Jason could think of anything snarky. 

Dick sat on the edge of the bed as Jason drank a few gulps of the Gatorade. “I’m gonna tell Bruce you’re out for a couple nights, ok? We’ll keep an eye on your spots. Any cases we should know about?”

“Don’t tell him,” Jason said, and leaned across Dick to put the drink on his nightstand. “I’ll be okay tomorrow, and if I’m not, I’ll send Tim a message. You guys can just swing by the docks and the alley and that’ll be enough. Don’t bother Bruce.” He laid back and closed his eyes again. “I’m serious, Dick.” 

Dick sighed, but then relented. “Okay. But I’m coming by to check on you tomorrow night before patrol. You have no sense of self-preservation.” 

“Just leave Bruce out of it,” Jason mumbled, and he rolled over so that his face was pressed into his pillow. He’d pass out and Damian would make sweet cookies and Tim and Dick would work on whatever Bat business they could do from a computer here with Babs on the other end. Someone would put a plate of cookies on the counter for Jason after they ate their share with the vanilla ice cream he’d promised them was in his freezer.

He’d wake to an empty apartment, but Dick said he’d be back to check on Jason tomorrow, and that made passing out even easier.

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

The floor-to-ceiling window looked out onto a small tile patio lined with green ferns, and they seemed to Jason to be reaching up to drink the soft rain that’s falling. Rain was bouncing off of black metal tables and onto the colored tiles where tiny pools were forming on the ground. Jason had to blink hard to look away from the mesmerizing water as Alfred pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. 

“Good afternoon, Master Jason,” he said, and he pulled the napkin from the table, set it on his lap, and turned the soft yellow teacup over on its flower-painted saucer. 

“Hi Alfred,” Jason said, and reached for the matching porcelain teapot to pour the tea. He added a splash of cream and Alfred picked up his spoon to stir it in. 

Alfred smiled, taking in the room. “Thank you for suggesting meeting here,” he said as he picked up his full teacup. “I’ve wanted to try it since it opened a few months ago. It’s lovely.”

Jason nodded. With light instrumental music filling the air and countless green plants in every nook and cranny, and the way there weren’t many tables in each area of the restaurant, it was as if he and Alfred were alone for their tea. 

“Master Bruce asked me to be sure and invite you to dinner at the Manor on Tuesday. Master Dick will be there as well.”

Jason is thankful that he’s practiced the art of never accepting invitations without taking a few deep breaths. He took a sip of his tea and then shook his head. “No. I can’t on Tuesday.” He’d make up some excuse, but this was Alfred he was talking to. That wouldn’t work.

Alfred raised an eyebrow anyway. 

“I hear this place has good tea sandwiches,” Jason said, like he hadn’t just ignored Alfred’s Question Eyebrow. 

“I shall have to try them,” Alfred replied with a sigh. He looked down at the menu.

Jason closed his eyes for a moment while Alfred was busy looking at the menu. The invitation rang in his mind, and he had to ignore it all over again. “Do you still have a garden on the grounds?” he managed to ask, pushing aside the thoughts of Bruce wanting Jason to come for dinner. 

Alfred smiled. “Yes.” 

Jason grinned into his cup of tea. “Remember when I pulled all of the carrots because you said, ‘thin the carrots’ and I thought it meant we’d pull them and cut them into thin slices?” 

“I blame myself for the whole thing. Why would you know what I actually meant?” Alfred said.

Jason laughed. “Yeah. Gardening not at the top of Crime Alley activities.” 

“You learned.”

“I did. Fresh vegetables from the ground seemed like science fiction to me when I showed up. Sometime that first week you told me to get the green beans from the icebox and I couldn’t figure out why you’d put canned beans in a refrigerator.” Alfred’s smile could light the room, Jason figured. He couldn’t help his own grin. “Digging for potatoes and checking on cucumbers were my favorite parts. You made the best cucumber mint sandwiches.”

“I see them on the menu here,” Alfred said, pulling Jason back to the present. “Shall we try them?” 

The results of this were pretty predictable, but it would be fun to ridicule a restaurant for trying to make an Alfred-special and watch Al try and be polite about it. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.”

**< ><><><><><><><><><><>**

Dick was tired and hungry when he finished patrol, but for some reason there were ants under his skin tonight and going back to the Manor sounded like voluntarily climbing into a small cage. He bounced on his toes for a moment before climbing on his bike and heading for Jason’s place. He hadn’t gone there alone since the great reconciliation happened last year, but he’d been over enough with Tim and Dami that it was unlikely Jay would throw him out a window this time. 

“What the hell, Grayson,” Jason growled as Dick climbed into the living room. 

Jason was sprawled on his couch still wearing shorts and a green hoodie and he had an ice pack pressed to his knee. Worry threaded through Dick’s chest. “What happened?” he asked as he went to the kitchen to rifle through a drawer. 

“Glue dissolver is in the top left drawer,” Jason said, and then added, “Damned thugs tried to hit Doc Thompkin’s clinic and one got a lucky shot in.”

Dick couldn’t help leaning around the counter to glance at Jason’s leg. No blood.

“Padding took most of the punch of it, but it’s bruised to hell,” Jason said. “What are you doing here, Dick?” 

“Didn’t feel like going back to the Manor just yet. Thought I’d check in with you,” he answered as he peeled his domino off his face. “You hungry?” 

Jason groaned. “Dick. Leave me alone. You guys were just here for dinner two nights ago.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware we had a quota,” Dick replied. He ducked back to the kitchen to put the glue remover away, and to hide his reaction. Jason could only take so much of Dick and the others, but it hurt tonight to be reminded of that. 

After a beat of silence, Jason called, “There’s leftover stir-fry and some leftover pasta. It’s pesto chicken. I want some of each.”

Dick set about warming up plates and fixing both of them a tall glass of ice water. Thoughts of tonight’s patrol kept pushing their way to the front of his mind. Naturally, he talked about it, musing out loud. “Too many kids on the street tonight, Jay.”

“Gotham’s a hell-hole, Dick.” 

“Yeah. Bruce has a new initiative for orphanages, did you know about that?” 

“Getting kids into orphanages isn’t as easy as it sounds, you know,” Jason answered. 

Dick set a plate in Jason’s lap and the water in front of him and sat down next to him on the couch. Jason glared at his closeness, but Dick hardly noticed. “Yeah, I found a couple kids, brother and sister I think, hiding in a Dumpster from a couple of thugs tonight. I pulled them out of there after chasing the guys away and before I could even ask what they needed they ran.”

Jason didn’t answer, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Thoughts of children and parents who didn’t care led to the opposite kinds of thoughts, of parents who tucked their kids in at night, who laughed with them and threw them in the air and caught them every time. 

“What’s going on with you, Dick?” Jason asked as he set his empty plate on the coffee table. 

Dick startled and looked over at Jason. 

“You don’t sit quietly very often, brother,” Jason added. 

Dick ran a hand down his face and closed his eyes for a moment. “Missing my parents, I guess,” he admitted grudgingly. 

Jason took a swig of water and eyed Dick carefully. “You don’t talk about your parents very often,” he said. 

Dick stared for a moment at his own glass, trying to decide where this was going. “I see kids neglected and think about how lucky I was for my first twelve years, I guess,” he finally said. “Seems unfair. I got parents who loved me and laughed with me and made sure I was safe.” 

Jason nodded and leaned into Dick’s side. Dick held his breath. Jason initiating contact was something to hold onto carefully. He was warm against Dick’s shoulder. 

“I bet Bruce was a big change,” Jason said. 

“What do you mean? He didn’t neglect me.” 

Jason turned his head sharply. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just. I mean, Bruce isn’t much for laughing. The Manor must have seemed quiet to you.” He paused. “I lived on the streets and the noise was chaotic, all screams and cars and dance clubs. The Manor was quiet, but the good kind. For me, I mean. Even when I lived with my mom in a run-down apartment the walls were paper thin and the street noises and neighbors were always loud. I got to the Manor and it felt like I could finally hear myself think. It must’ve been different for you.”

Dick cocked his head and looked at Jason. “Yeah,” he said. “The noises of the circus were animals, carnival music, laughter. I liked it. The Manor was quiet, but after my parents died the circus didn’t sound the same either. I liked talking to Alfred and choosing my own music, and Bruce laughed more back then. You just don’t remember that.” 

Jason blinked at him and a small smile stole across his face. “I remember.”

**< ><><><><><><><><><><>**

Tim pushed his way into the coffee shop with his phone in his hands and his head down. He stood in line texting furiously, trying to explain the budget line he’d had to fiddle with in order to appease both R&D and the Board, but the line moved slowly enough that he managed to finish his side of the conversation in time to order his ‘giant cup of sludge.’ That’s what Dick called it, but Tim had it on good authority that Dick poured half a pound of sugar into his coffee, so who’s he to talk?

Of course, texting and walking would make Bruce growl about situational awareness, but Bruce wasn’t there. Tim got his coffee, got a new message from Lucius about another conversation he just had with the Board yesterday, and couldn’t help but slam his backpack into the closest chair. He hadn’t planned to stay at the shop, but carrying coffee and texting meant voice-to-text and that was just annoying. 

When he finally looked up from his phone, Jason was sitting across from him sipping on his own chai tea latte. Tim could smell it. “Jason, hey.”

“Hey Timmy. Your situational awareness is for shit today,” Jason said as he adjusted his own backpack under the table. He was wearing his motorcycle leathers, and his red jacket was unzipped to show his black t-shirt. His hair was tousled from his helmet and the white streak was almost straight up.

Tim grinned and Jason glared. “What?”

“Helmet head,” Tim replied.

Jason set his latte down and fiddled with his hair. “Fuck you.” 

Tim’s phone chimed again. “Dammit,” he muttered as he texted Lucius again. They went back and forth a couple times before he finally looked up at Jason again. “Sorry,” he said.

“Everything okay?” Jason asked. 

Tim hardly heard him because fuck Accounting was messing around again with Lucius and his team. Tim was the only one who was supposed to be able to block anything Lucius spearheaded. He opened another message and shot off a text to the Accounting lead and blind copied Bruce. They had an agreement that if Tim thought he was about to go toe to toe with anyone at WE, he blind copied Bruce so that he could step in if things got ugly. Tim’s age and relationship with Bruce rarely came up anymore, but there were exceptions and today might be one. He typed a couple more messages and he finally looked up again.

Jason stared over the lip of his cup. 

“Sorry,” Tim repeated. He took a long swig of his now almost-cold coffee. 

“You work too hard,” Jason stated. 

“What? No, I don’t.” 

“You look like shit,” Jason answered. “When did you last sleep?” 

Tim blinked and took another drink. So what if he couldn’t remember if it was yesterday or the day before that he had that nap on his office couch. It’s been a busy week. “I’m fine.” 

Jason sighed and swallowed the last of his latte, twisted a bit to throw his cup in the nearby trash can, then turned back to Tim. “You’re pale and your dark circles are gonna meet in the middle if you don’t sleep soon. Also, you’re wearing the same shirt you had on two days ago when Dick sent me a picture of you and Damian having lunch.” 

“Why did Dick send a picture of me and Dami having lunch?” 

Jason laughed. “He sends me pictures of the dumbest shit he can on slow days. He said something about your burger contrasting with Damian’s seared tuna salad. I dunno, but you were wearing that shirt. And that tie.” 

Tim didn’t answer because another text came through. He bit his bottom lip and sent a couple of messages in reply. When he looked up again, Jason’s frown had turned into a full-on glare. “What?” Tim asked. “What do you want, Jase? I’m working. There’re a lot of breakthroughs going on in R&D right now and the board is bucking Lucius on the funding. They’re being shortsighted idiots and I have to mediate.” He emptied his coffee cup and then ran his hand over his face. Yeah, he was tired, but since when did that matter a whole lot?

Jason was sending a text of his own. When he got a reply, he nodded. “Right. Okay. Dick says that Damian and Alfred are home and he confirms that you’re wearing the same clothes and that you never do that if you sleep. Come on.” Jason stood up. 

Tim stared blankly. “What?” 

“Come on. My bike’s outside and I’m taking you home.” Jason zipped his coat and grabbed his and Tim’s backpacks from under the table.

Tim’s brain tried to catch up, but Jason might have a point about him being exhausted. 

“Tim!” 

Tim stood up. “But I have to fix this.” He held up his phone. 

“You have until we get to my bike to end that conversation,” Jason said. “Try not to trip while you text.” He backed through the coffee shop door and held it open for Tim. “Come on, loser. We’re getting you a nap.” 

Tim sighed and followed him outside. He sent two texts on the way to the bike, only tripped once, then shoved his phone in his pocket as Jason handed him the spare helmet. The trip was long enough that when they finally pulled into Wayne Manor and Tim climbed off the bike, he stumbled.

Jason grabbed his elbow to keep him from faceplanting onto the Manor driveway. Tim mumbled apologies as he took off the helmet and traded it for his backpack with Jason.

“Come inside and get a drink or something?” Tim asked around a yawn and leaned into Jason a little. They both glanced up at Damian, who had shoved his way out the front door with Alfred in tow. 

“Nah, thanks, though,” Jason answered like Tim suspected he would.

“Worth a shot,” Tim muttered, and Alfred came down to take Tim’s elbow from Jason. “I’m okay, Alfred,” he said and tried to pull away. 

Alfred heaved a put-upon sigh. “Master Timothy, if you’ve indeed not slept in two days, you’re violating our agreement, and you are not, in fact, ‘okay.’” 

“What agreement?” Jason asked like he was being given a secret. 

“No more than thirty-six hours without sleep, and if you go over it that’s two nights off patrol,” Alfred replied.

Jason frowned. “Dammit, Tim. You know that Bruce always makes me check in with him if you’re not on patrol.” 

“That’s not a big deal and you know it, Jason,” Tim said around another yawn. 

Jason put a hand to his chest. “It pains me, Tim. You know damned well that it causes me pain.” 

Tim rolled his eyes and Alfred handed Jason the Tupperware container he was holding. “Master Jason, I made shortbread and a few scones were left from breakfast this morning.” 

Jason grabbed the container and immediately opened it and pulled out a shortbread and popped it in his mouth. He groaned. “This is the best thing I’ve tasted in two weeks, Alfred. Thanks.” He closed the lid and shoved the container into the small carrying compartment on the back of the bike. “Get some rest, Timmers. I hate meeting with Bruce on patrol and you know it.” 

Tim did know it, but all he could do in reply was to yawn again. Maybe it was the proximity to his bed that was causing all of these yawns.

“It’s called exhaustion, dumbass,” Jason replied because apparently Tim said that out loud, and he gave them all a two-fingered salute before he put his helmet on, climbed on the bike and then drove off. 

Alfred watched until Jason was out of sight and then turned to Damian. “Help your brother get to his room, please, Master Damian, and then you can come back to the kitchen and finish making the bread.” 

“I’m fine, Al,” Tim said, but Damian took Tim’s elbow and they followed Alfred inside.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t fall to his death on the stairs, Alfred,” Damian said.

“Thank you very much,” Alfred replied, and Tim got the distinct feeling of being teamed up on.

When Damian really did have to grab Tim as he stumbled on the top step, he figured they all might’ve been onto something. As soon as he tugged off his shoes and tore off his tie, he passed out in his bed for thirteen hours.

**< ><><><><><><><><><>**

One thing Damian really liked about the United States was that sometimes, when the day was good, there was bright sunshine and cool air. He missed the desert, but not its heat. This day was one of those good days. He was sitting on the front steps of the manor with his sketchbook, drawing the trees on either side of the front steps, when his phone buzzed. A picture of Grumpy Cat popped up on his screen. “Hello, Jason,” he answered, setting down his pencil and sketchbook on the step. 

“I’m really, really bored,” Jason replied.

“Hello to you, too,” Damian snapped. He was constantly getting spoken to about manners. Clearly Todd needed those lessons as well. 

“Hey,” Jason said. “I’m bored. What are you doing?”

“I’m drawing.” Damian paused, then added, “On the steps of the Manor.” 

“That’s boring,” Jason said, like he was an authority on All Things Boring. 

Jason could sit on the same couch all day if he had a new book, so maybe he _was_ an authority on boring. “What do I have to do with your boredom?” Damian asked.

After a beat, like Jason had to think about the answer, Jason spoke again. “Why don’t you go somewhere more interesting to draw?”

Damian sighed. Something was up. Sometimes Jason got in odd moods, and Damian couldn’t read him at all. “I’m thirteen. I am confined to the Manor unless someone is kind enough to escort me elsewhere.” 

“I’m kind enough,” Jason replied.

“What?” Damian asked, like a common dolt. 

“I’ll escort you elsewhere if it means something to do.” 

Damian picked his pencil back up and stared at it. “Can you take me to the zoo?” 

“Um. That’s an hour away.”

“Yes,” Damian said. “I have a donation to give them anyway, and I want to check on the baby elephant because I read last week that it was sick. Also, it’s more interesting to draw at the zoo than here at the Manor, despite the trees and Alfred’s flower beds.” He has a whole notebook of Alfred’s flower beds.

“All right, fine. Grab your helmet, make sure you’ve got sunscreen, and meet me out front in thirty minutes. Get something to eat before we go if you can. I just finished breakfast and I don’t want to stop as soon as we get there.” 

Damian complied and was waiting patiently on the steps when Jason pulled up on his motorcycle. Damian held his sky-blue backpack that had his sketchbook, pencil set, extra sunscreen, a hat that Alfred insisted he wear if they were out more than an hour in the sun, and a water bottle. Damian stood, and when Jason took his helmet off, he said, “Alfred told me we could take a car if you’d rather. Since it’s an hour drive and it may get warm.”

“The silver convertible?” Jason asked.

“He said any of them were fine. Come on,” Damian said, turning to go back into the house. It was the quickest route to the garage. 

“I’ll meet you there. I don’t want to leave my bike out front.” 

An hour and a half later and he and Jason were arguing over which animals to see first. 

“Come on, kid. Polar bears. Penguins. Arctic Foxes. Have you drawn an Arctic Fox before?” Jason said.

“If we go to the elephants, we can check on Mimsy and then see the tigers, too,” Damian argued. He wasn’t going to admit how worried he was about the little one, but if he didn’t start by checking there, he would worry all afternoon. “We can go to the polar bears afterward.”

Jason frowned and crossed his arms. 

Damian tried to compromise like Tim was trying to teach him. “We could stop at the gorillas before the polar bears. I read about some new enrichments there,” he said, but he’d clearly misjudged something because Jason’s face went darker than a thundercloud.

“No gorillas,” he growled. 

“Why not? They’re beautiful.” Damian said.

“I won’t go see them. Deal with it. When someone else brings you back you can see them, but not with me. Come on, let’s go see the fucking elephants.” 

Damian was worried that he’d somehow ruined the day, but after Damian asked the docent about the baby and they got good news, and after Damian sat and sketched the mother elephant with Jason intently watching him draw, things got better. Damian managed to sketch tigers, a penguin, an arctic fox, and a few of the birds in the aviary before Jason bought him a red Icee and he found his new favorite American treat. They sat waiting for prairie dogs to pop out of their burrows as they drank their Icees. 

“How have I missed these?” he asked, holding his cup in front of him and then staring at Jason. “They’re amazing.” 

Jason sipped his Coke one and shrugged. “Bruce and Alfred aren’t the best junk food instructors and Dick and Tim have clearly been negligent big brothers.” 

Damian blinked. Jason was practically admitting that he was Damian’s brother. Damian scooted a little closer and leaned into Jason’s shoulder. “They’re definitely negligent. Especially Drake,” he said, and Jason laughed.

“Draw Tim one of the prairie dogs and maybe he’ll be a better brother. He’ll think it’s cute.” 

Tim laughed at the cuteness of the prairie dog picture and hung it next to his bed after he gave Damian a big hug that night. Jason was on to something about brothers.

**< ><><><><><><><><>**

“What happened?” Batman growled, and the wind of the rooftop swirled his cape around him, like it was whipping him. He ignored it. “You’re favoring your right arm.”

Jason would deny it, but he was using the only arm that worked at the moment to hold a goon by his windpipe against the wall while Bruce zip tied the guy’s hands behind his back. From the whimper Jason heard, Bruce wasn’t taking any chances. “Dislocated shoulder in the fight. I’ll be fine.”

He stepped back so that Bruce could shove the guy to his knees and tie his ankles. Jason _would_ be fine, too. He turned to the wall, shoved his gun in its holster, and lined up his shoulder. He’d put his own shoulder back plenty of times. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but he’d done it. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and felt Bruce pull him back from the wall.

“Stop.” 

Jason glared at him. 

“It’s harder to do it yourself. Let me.” 

Something in Bruce’s voice was softer than usual, more like a request than his usual demands. 

It _would_ be easier to have Bruce do it, so he nodded.

Bruce put one hand on Jason’s shoulder and then gripped his elbow. “Deep breath and hold it.”

Jason complied.

Bruce wrenched and Jason clenched his eyes through the pain and then it was done. Bruce still held Jason’s arm. “Better?” he asked.

Jason stared at the gloved hand on his arm, but he didn’t pull away. He just nodded.

“Good. Will you come back to the Cave and let Agent A do a scan to make sure everything’s stable in there?” Bruce was still holding his arm, and Jason couldn’t stop staring at his hand on it. “Hood?” Bruce said, his voice soft, so the guy on the ground couldn’t hear him. “Are you all right?” 

Jason was years away, his vision filled with the memory of the first time he broke his arm on patrol with Bruce, when he was laying on the rooftop in the chill of October as Bruce stood over him, brushing his gloved hand through Jason’s hair and saying, “You’re going to be all right, Robin. It hurts now, but we’ll get you back to the Cave and fix your arm right up so it doesn’t hurt as badly. You’ll be all right.” And Jason had believed him immediately, and let Bruce pick him up and carry him down the rickety fire escape to the Batmobile, where he laid him gently in the backseat and then put the car on autopilot so that he could hold Jason’s good hand the whole way home. 

Dragged back to the present by the smell of asphalt and garbage from the alley below, he glanced up at Bruce. “I’m fine,” he said, and pulled his arm away. “I have to go home.”

Bruce frowned. “Does your current home have a decent med kit?”

Jason brushed off his concern. “Yeah. Red restocked it for me last week. It probably even has root beer lollipops,” and he didn’t say it to hurt, but Bruce flinched, clearly remembering the jar of root beer lollipops Alfred let Bruce keep in the med bay when they’d found out they were Jason’s favorite. Bruce would sneak them to Jason sometimes when he was sick, like they were carrying out international espionage or something by getting them past Alfred. 

Jason blinked at Bruce’s reaction and shook his head to clear it. “You need anything else from me here?” 

Bruce dropped Jason’s arm and stepped back. “Add tonight to your casefile on the Marineli group. I’m certain it’s connected.” 

They stood awkwardly for a moment before Bruce shook himself out of his thoughts, and he took a step toward Jason, who couldn’t help his flinch and stepped back so fast his back slammed against the wall. He tried to lean and make it look intentional and casual, but Bruce stepped away quickly.

“Let’s finish this elsewhere,” Bruce said, and Jason followed him a few rooftops over. Jason’s bike was down in the alley below. 

“Come to dinner tomorrow?” Bruce asked, and Jason closed his eyes, thankful for his mask lenses. “Dick’s going to be there.”

“No, thanks,” he replied, and Bruce stiffened. “I’ll check in before patrol if you want, since so many things seem to be overlapping right now.” Jason paused. They only had a few minutes before the police arrived at the scene and Bruce probably still didn’t want the GCPD to know how closely he was working with the Red Hood. Jason understood that. This was Bruce reaching out, though, trying to get Jason home, trying to help him. 

It had been long enough since their last big fight, long enough for Jason to see how Bruce was trying to be there for him, trying to get Jason to come into the sphere of the Bats enough for him to want to stay, for them to be a family again. Jason _saw_ that. He even _wanted_ it sometimes, but thinking about things like family made Jason’s skin itch, made his chest tight, and made his nerves jangle. 

Bruce practically vibrating out of the Batsuit, though, was enough to make Jason stop and think. “You want to get some pancakes?” he asked, rolling his bad shoulder slowly, keeping it loose. 

“What?” 

“Pancakes. There’s a new diner just outside the Narrows. I’ve been wanting to try it. I could use your ear for the Singali case, too, if you want to talk for a bit.” He could hardly believe his own words, but he held his breath waiting for Bruce to answer. 

Bruce finally nodded. “Give me an hour. I’ll meet you there,” he said, and he turned and disappeared over the edge of the roof. 

Jason stood still for a minute and finally shook his head. “What the fuck did I just do?” he muttered to himself, and then he forced himself to move. He needed to change clothes. 

Jason ordered a cup of coffee and an order of French toast before Bruce finally got there, sliding into the booth and pulling his faded black Gotham Knights baseball hat a little lower over his eyes. He was wearing a grey hoodie, dark jeans jacket, and torn jeans with green Converse and Jason had to admire his ability to move his body entirely unlike Bruce Wayne or Batman. 

“I ordered already, sorry. I was really hungry,” Jason said, shoving a bite of French toast into his mouth. Their waitress, a tall redhead, appeared at the table and poured a refill for Jason and a cup for Bruce, who ordered some scrambled eggs and hash browns and a glass of orange juice. Jason asked her to bring him some eggs and bacon, and Bruce hid a smile behind his coffee cup.

Jason raised an eyebrow after she left. “Diner orange juice, B? Pretty big risk.”

Bruce shrugged. “Feeling a little run down. Could use all the vitamin C I can get.” 

Jason blinked and swallowed a weird feeling of panic that surged at the thought of Bruce getting sick. The first time Bruce had caught the flu when Jason was a kid he’d been convinced Bruce was going to die and leave him the way his mom had, and he pestered Alfred to take Bruce to the hospital for three days straight and had fought nightmares for a month after it happened. 

Bruce was fixing Jason with such an odd look right now that Jason wondered if he remembered that, too. “I’m okay,” he said. 

Jason just nodded.

The waitress brought the rest of the food and they ate in comfortable silence for a bit. 

“Damian made some hummus at my place last week that was better than any restaurant I’ve had here in the States,” Jason finally said. “Has he been cooking with Alfred?” 

Bruce nodded and swallowed his food. “Yes. They’re on a mission to recreate every food Damian can remember from Egypt. The list on the fridge is pretty long.” He paused and added, “Some are more successful than others. Tim added some dishes from Russia that he apparently tried on a trip with his parents as a boy and now it’s a significant mission. Dick wanted to add some Romani dishes, but Damian says they have to master his own list first.” 

Jason grinned. “Throw on Pork-n-Beans from Park Row for me when you get a chance. That’s some fancy cooking.”

Bruce snorted and Jason’s own smile widened. They chatted about food for a few minutes, and that led them to Damian’s tastes, which led them to Damian’s pets. Jason’s been wanting to ask about this for a while. 

“A cow, B? Really?” 

Bruce just chuckled. “God help me, I didn’t mean to let him end up with a menagerie, but it’s a better outlet for him than anger, which usually ends with him and Tim breaking something in an honest-to-goodness brawl.” 

“They still fight?”

“Not as much as they used to, but Tim is nothing if not expert at button pushing, intentional or no.” He finished his toast and added, “I think the last time they fought the old Tiffany lamp in the den was the victim.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “And Al let them both live?” 

“Their chore list increased a great deal for next month.” 

It took Jason a minute to catch up, but when he did, “Tim doesn’t even live there full-time anymore. He still has chores?” 

“He does after they broke that lamp,” Bruce said with a shrug. 

Jason laughed, and Bruce’s chin snapped up at the sound, like he didn’t see that coming. He grinned, too, after a moment.

When the waitress brought them their bill and they finally wandered out of the diner, Jason realized that they never did talk about their case.

**< ><><><><><><><><>**

Jason often wandered over to a particular spot near the channel when he needed the illusion of space. He usually took a mug of tea and maybe some spring rolls from Johnny Kim’s Chinese and sat on the bank watching the boats head for the Docks. Sometimes he took a book, but today he just needed some air after a tough night of patrol. 

He’d snapped at Bruce and Damian on a rooftop after fighting over something stupid, and Damian had thrown out his old mantra of ‘don’t talk to _my_ Father that way,’ which he hadn’t dragged out in over a year. Jason had told them both to fuck off and not to count on him on the upcoming raid they’d been planning, and he’d flipped off the roof in annoyance. Screw them. He’d call them once he calmed down and get back in on the raid, but Damian’s words stung harder now that they’d been getting along so well. 

Jason needed space.

This was his spot, and there was a tree log stretched across the bank that he liked to sit on. He’d never seen another person here, and he’s been coming for two years on and off, which is why he didn’t expect the dart that pierced his shoulder and flushed his body with a cold numbness before his vision blacked out. 

He couldn’t even reach for his phone to call Dick, and his last conscious thought was that he maybe should have let Babs put a tracker on his shoes like she threatened last month.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As one hilarious reviewer said, "Cue overprotective Bat Dad and Bat Family reaction in 3-2-1" 
> 
> They're not wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to @orderlychaos for the beta help!

Tim stopped by Jason’s apartment because Damian asked him to, and that was a weird enough request to be taken seriously. There were levels of Damian-requests, and many of those levels were easy to ignore. Tim did not feel the need to appease requests for rides unless he was in the area, he didn’t pay attention to requests for him to disappear when Damian was in one of his moods, and he learned early to ignore requests for help with schoolwork since Damian was clearly Bruce’s son and those requests were really only made because Damian didn’t want to do the work. 

A request to, quote, ‘check on Todd because he was acting like a miscreant on patrol two nights ago’ pinged Tim’s radar as weird. 

He disarmed the alarm on the window and climbed in. “Jason!” he called, hopping down to the wood floor and leaning over to tug his shoes off. He’d been yelled at for leaving them on “like a fucking heathen who was raised in a barn” enough the first few times he visited. Jason didn’t answer, so Tim headed for the kitchen. “Jay, you weren’t answering your phone, so I barged in!” he called.

There was no answer, which was a little odd for ten in the morning. Jason was usually home sleeping off patrol. Tim’s stomach dropped and worry filled it. “Jay, are you hurt?” he called and headed for Jason’s bedroom. He pushed the door open and blinked in relief at not finding his brother bleeding out in bed or anything. The bed was made, actually, which Tim catalogued as weird in two ways. 

One, it meant Jason hadn’t slept last night at all, which was weird to Tim because he’d never met anyone so adamant about getting his sleep as Jason Todd, and Bruce confirmed that even as a kid Jason would sleep until someone actively woke him on most days. Two, it meant that Jason made his bed before leaving. Tim hadn’t made his own bed in between sheet changes since he moved out on his own. Of course, he made it at the Manor when he stayed over, but that was habit and childhood rules mixing pretty hard. 

Tim headed to the bathroom and checked it before blowing out a breath. Okay. Jason wasn’t home, probably hadn’t been home since yesterday, and Damian was worried because Jay had been acting weird on patrol. Tim pulled out his phone and called Jason’s phone. It went straight to voicemail.

“Hey Jason,” Tim said, “Give me a call when you get this. Damian said you were being a “miscreant” on patrol the other night and I wanna know what you did to earn that label. He hasn’t pulled it out in a while. Also, Dami asked me to check your place and make sure you’re okay, so that’s why someone was in your apartment today. It was me. I’m gonna make a quick cup of coffee and then get outta here. Catch you later.” Tim hung up and headed for the kitchen. 

He loved Jason’s apartment and liked that he had an excuse to make some coffee and scour Jay’s bookshelf and sit on his giant poofy couch and read for a while. Somehow Jason had managed to capture the coziness of the Manor den that Tim (and everyone) loved so much here in his own space. The bookshelves were the same kind, and the wood floors and fireplace completed the copy. It felt like home and Tim let the feeling envelop him as he drank his coffee and read. Maybe Jason would come home while Tim was getting a caffeine fix.

He didn’t. Tim cleaned up after coffee and left with a frown, and he checked his phone every few hours until patrol that night, but Jason didn’t call him back. Of course, if Jay was mad at Damian that might extend to all of them if he was in the wrong mood. Tim let it go. He patrolled, slept, woke long enough to go to three meetings at Wayne Enterprises, went out for patrol again the next night, and when he got a call from Dick two days later asking if he’d seen or heard from Jason, the worry came back to the pit of his stomach. He hung up on Dick and went back to Jay’s place.

His own coffee mug was still sitting on the dishrack and Jason’s bed was still made. He dialed Jay’s number and left another voicemail. “Jason. Call me. As soon as you get this. You’re being weird even for you.” Okay, maybe antagonizing the black sheep of the family wasn’t the best plan, but something was really off here. 

“I think something happened,” Tim said later that night in the Cave. He’d followed Bruce and Damian back home after patrol instead of going back to his own place because Jason hadn’t shown again. “Three days, Bruce, and he hasn’t been back to his apartment, either.”

Bruce frowned. “Has anyone called Roy? He usually knows where Jay is.” 

Tim winced. “Shit. Right. Okay.” He picked up his phone and dialed. 

“What the hell, it’s fucking four in the goddamned morning you asshole,” Roy growled in greeting. 

“I get that, but do you know where Jason is?” Tim said, ignoring the bite in Roy’s voice. They didn’t  _ not _ get along, but they didn’t work together often and maybe they didn’t really  _ get _ along either. 

There was a pause on the line. “No. I haven’t heard from him. Hang on,” Roy added, so Tim did, and Roy’s voice was clear in the background. “You haven’t heard? He’s not answering me. No. I don’t know. Red Robin’s pestering me about it.” After a couple minutes, Roy came back to Tim. “No one’s heard from him in a bit, but that’s also not unusual. Gimme a day and I’ll do some looking.”

“Thanks, Roy. You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t weird.” Tim said.

Roy just hung up on Tim.

“Tim?” Bruce asked.

“No. They don’t know where he is, either. Roy’s going to do some more checking.” 

“He’s disappeared before,” Damian said as he put his knives from the night away.

“And we made him angry,” Bruce added. He sat down at the computer.

“By ‘we’ you mean ‘Damian,’” Tim muttered. 

“He asked for it, Drake,” Damian replied, his voice going icy. 

Tired and worried, Tim snapped, “Shut up, Damian. No one asks for your garbage.” 

The knife didn’t hit Tim, but only because he knew to duck to the side when Damian didn’t answer him right away. It would have only grazed him anyway, but Bruce snapped, “Apologize to your brother. Knives are not an answer.” 

Damian sighed. “I apologize. I’ll do your laundry this weekend.” 

That was the solution Bruce had come up with when Tim and Dami fought to the point of weapons or blows. They had to trade a chore, but Tim could tell Damian was worried, too, and that probably made him lash out more quickly than usual. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t bring any with me this time.” He turned back to Bruce, “Call me if you hear anything from Jason?”

Bruce nodded, and Tim went upstairs to sleep off the night. If Jason didn’t check in tomorrow, that would make it four days off grid. Tim tried to assure himself that it wasn’t long for someone like Jay, but the uneasy sleep that followed told him that he didn’t believe himself at all.

**< ><><><><><><><><><><>**

Even though Tim had done a sweep of Jason’s place, when seven days hit, Bruce caught up to him on the worry front and went to see for himself. The place was empty. The bananas in the fruit bowl were black and the bread on the counter was turning a dusty blue. Bruce was in civilian clothes and began a sweep of the neighborhood after the food in the apartment made it clear that Jason hadn’t planned on leaving.

If he did leave on his own accord, then it was a last-minute choice. Bruce didn’t like it. He checked the diner they’d had breakfast in a couple weeks ago. The red-haired waitress said she hadn’t seen Jay since that day. He checked all the Chinese restaurants in the area because Jason had a serious addiction, but they hadn’t seen him all week either. 

Bruce tried calling Roy again, but his current team was on-mission and he didn’t answer. He called Babs. “I know you don’t like doing this, but can you turn on the tracker on Jason’s bike? I can’t keep him bugged, but he usually lets the ones on his bike stay.”

Jason’s bike was in its usual spot and Bruce had to find a bench and sit down for a minute as panic filled his chest. “Leave that tracker on. I want to know if the bike moves,” Bruce said. “Do you have any other way of tracking him?” 

“Tim was working on the alarm system in his apartment, to see if the cameras had picked up anything weird, but it’s taking him some time,” Babs said. “I don’t think he’s around, Bruce. I’ll run a scan of GCPD’s CCTV footage to make sure, but our cameras haven’t picked him up in a week.”

Bruce sat for a few minutes and then headed back to the Manor. He sat at the kitchen table and stared at the wood until Alfred’s hand settled on his shoulder. “I don’t know where he is, Al,” Bruce said.

Alfred slid a cup of steaming tea onto the table in front of him and sat down across from him. “You’ve gotten Oracle involved in the search?” 

Bruce nodded.

“And Roy Harper knows we’re concerned?”

“Yes.”

“And Master Tim and the other boys are working to find him?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you should ask Clark, Mr. Allen, and Mr. Jordan to have a look around their cities for us. We can’t chase him around the world, but they can keep an eye out for him.” 

Bruce took his tea down to the Cave and made a few calls. He ran security footage at the airport for the last week. He scanned police reports and, God help him, called the area hospitals and did his own scan of their ER and morgue reports. Nothing. 

He put his head in his hands. 

_ “Jason!” he called, striding through the house. “I give up!” There was no answer. He checked every room and walked the grounds for almost an hour before he heard a small voice from an old oak tree.  _

_ “Bruce?”  _

_ He looked up and Jason was huddled on a branch about thirty feet up.  _

_ “I got stuck, Bruce. The branch broke,” Jason said, pointing at a large branch he had clearly used to get up there. “I’m sorry.”  _

_ “It’s okay, Jay-lad. I’ll get you down. Give me just a minute.” He ran back to the house and grabbed a grapple gun and a pair of kid-sized gloves before heading back to the tree. He shot the wire and had the gloves attached to the wire. Jason pulled them off and put them on. “It’s like training,” he called. “Just hand-over-hand down, son. You can do it.” _

_ When Jason landed at his feet Bruce smiled down at him, and the boy wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist and said, “You found me,” into his shirt.  _

_ Bruce laughed. “That was a good spot, kiddo. I think you won anyway.” _

Now he sat in the Cave wondering where his son was hiding now. 

Bruce didn’t usually hear the noises in the Cave anymore. They were like a soundtrack on its fourth playthrough, a low hum of background noise that his brain had simply made part of the way the world sounded. He didn’t notice it. Usually. 

Tonight he waited on the algorithm Tim made for the street cams and routes Jason usually took. He waited for the file requests to come through from Oracle, the ones that she was stealing from Jason’s home server, about three cases Bruce didn’t have backed up here on his computer. He watched as his own file filter ran about every case Jason had been even remotely involved in, from now back to Before. 

He waited for something, anything, to jog his thoughts or system about where on Earth Jason might be or who might have taken him, and he heard every sound in the Cave. 

The bats chittered. The computers hummed. Water dripped in the distance. Bruce’s chair rattled across the stone floor as he shifted from one computer bank to another. Finally, it was too much.

He stood and, just to hear something different, shoved the chair across the room and whirled and kicked a nearby tray-holder. It clattered to the ground. He fell to a crouch and grabbed his hair with both hands. His breath heaved. He clenched his eyes shut. Jason was gone. He hadn’t run. He hadn’t stormed off in a fit of anger. He hadn’t gone off to his Outlaw friends to escape. He just disappeared. The last time Jason had disappeared Bruce’s world had ended. 

Jason had the power to end it again; Bruce just knew it. 

He thought of having breakfast with Jason recently, how the pretense of talking about cases had turned to the family. He thought of Damian shrugging when Bruce asked where he’d been one afternoon and Damian saying, “Jason took me to the zoo so I could work on my bird series.” He thought of Dick storming into Bruce’s study a month ago and saying, “Jason said you have a stash of albums you don’t let anyone else listen to and you have The Clash’s Pearl Harbor. I need to listen to it, Bruce.” He thought of Tim curled up in the study reading a copy of The Bluest Eye and saying, “Jason said, and I quote, ‘everyone should read this fucking book,’ so I am,” when Bruce asked what prompted that read. He thought of Alfred coming home later than usual one afternoon and telling Bruce about meeting Jason for lunch at the new tea house in Bristol. 

He clenched his hair hard enough for it to burn. The monitor beeped.

He stood, moved his chair back to the computers and pulled up the files that Oracle had just sent through. There was a note – “Jason’s security is really damned good; sorry it took so long” – and Bruce couldn’t help his small smile as he opened the files. He spent two hours going over them, but there was nothing. No loose ends, no one who could know anything about Jason as Jason. His son may be temperamental and difficult, but he was good at what he did. There was nothing in the files to help. 

By the time he finished with the files, Alfred had set hot tea with honey and lemon at his elbow and Tim’s street cam algorithm had finished running. There were three hits in the last month and they were all at the grocery store in his area, and in the last one Jason had even flashed the street cam a peace sign and broad grin. Bruce froze the frame and took a screenshot. It was a pretty good photo. Bruce loved Jason’s smile, and it had always, from the first day Jason managed to not be scared out of his wits at the Manor, filled Bruce with a fireplace in winter kind of warmth.

There was nothing on the cameras after that view of Jason grinning, and Bruce kicked himself for training his kids to stay out of camera view by habit. Bruce spent another hour double checking everything, and then the Cave was just a bundle of its natural noises again. Jason was still missing. Bruce’s emotions were still a damned mess. 

Every time he walked into a room with Jason, it was like he was walking across a tattered rope bridge stretched high across a rocky canyon. It swayed, it was rough to hold, his foot went through the slats sometimes, and he felt a rush of safety and relief when he managed to get to the other side; when he left a room or conversation with Jason, he felt like he escaped safely. Bruce was  _ just _ starting to feel like the bridge was finally sturdier and then Jason disappeared and Bruce Wayne, the World’s Greatest Detective, couldn’t find a clue to find him.

He had plenty of ways of finding Jason, and none were working. Bruce left for patrol and tonight he had to hold back on hurting the criminals in a way he hadn’t in years. 

After patrol, he couldn’t sleep. Alfred’s tea didn’t help, and Bruce ended up down in the cave in his pajamas, something that usually drove Alfred to scowl and drag him back upstairs. Today was no different, but Al used the ‘you have to eat something, and Master Dick has come by to check on our progress, so come eat with him,’ tactic, and it worked. He was actually hungry.

Dick looked tired, too, with shadows under his eyes and his head resting in his hand. Bruce slid in across from him at the table. “Bruce,” he said, and then he yawned. “I had to check in with a few of my contacts before I came, or I would’ve come sooner.” 

“Do you have any ideas?” Bruce asked, accepting the plate of eggs and toast from Alfred with a nod. 

“I assume you’ve checked official places like the PD or hospitals?” Dick asked around a bite of bacon.

“Yes,” Bruce answered, and he was about to ask if Dick would just wander Park Row this afternoon when Damian stumbled in and sat down with his own plate of fruit and bowl of oatmeal. 

“Are we planning our search?” he asked, and Dick reached over to ruffle his hair, which Bruce still couldn’t believe Damian allowed. 

It was that moment when Tim walked in, fully dressed and clearly coming from somewhere else. He stopped and took in the scene at the table and frowned. “I can’t believe this,” he growled. “You guys are just sitting around having breakfast. Jason’s been gone for over a week, no person he usually has contact with has seen him at all, and you’re sitting here eating eggs like it’s a normal day. What the hell, Bruce.” 

Bruce had a bite of eggs halfway to his mouth and he let it drop. “Tim, sit down and eat something.”

“Yeah, if I know you, Timmers, you haven’t eaten in at least a day,” Dick said. 

Damien stood up. “We’re planning. Eating and planning, but planning. Father has not slept in two days over this, so keep your accusations to yourself.”

“Have you checked with the League?” Tim demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring Damian. 

Tim obviously hadn’t slept, either, and Bruce’s breath hitched at the thought of how this family had reconciled since the madness of Jason’s early days back in Gotham. “Yes. Clark, Hal, and Barry are keeping an eye out for him. I’ve also checked all the official outlets. I’ve found nothing.” 

Tim’s eyes darkened. “You’re the best detective there is and he’s your son. How hard are you trying, Bruce?” 

Now Dick stood up. “Tim. You know he’s trying. Come on, you should eat.”

“We finally got him back, Dick! We finally convinced him to stick around, to let us stick around, and now we’ve lost him! You know how tentative the truce is! You know he’s still freaked out by all of us! Now he disappears and we can’t fucking find him? What if he’s testing us?” 

Bruce was definitely tired because it took Tim’s whole rant before his brain caught up. Tim was exhausted. Emotional. Angry in a way Bruce hadn’t seen in a long time. “Tim. He’s not testing us. Sit down and eat something and I’ll tell you everything I know. Then we can plan. Come on, sit down.” 

Tim didn’t move for a moment, and then he slumped into the seat like his strings had been cut. He pressed his head to the table. “It’s been over a week. We were supposed to go to a movie yesterday. Us guys usually crash his place for dinner on Tuesdays and he wasn’t there. Where the hell  _ is _ he?”

Bruce watched as Dick leaned into Tim’s side and rubbed circles on his back. “We’ll find him, Tim. We need to regroup and rest, but we’ll find him,” Dick said gently.

“We will,” Bruce added, because he was certain of one thing: “It’s clear at this point that someone took him; he didn’t disappear on his own. His bike hasn’t moved in a week, none of the people he usually interacts with in his neighborhood have seen him in a week, and Roy hasn’t heard from him. He’s been kidnapped.” He took a deep breath. He hadn’t uttered those words since he started looking, and they tasted sour in his mouth now. Jason had been through so much already. 

“He wasn’t kidnapped as Red Hood,” Tim said, sitting up. “I figured out his gear room lock and his costume and weapons are all still there.” 

Bruce blinked. “What?” he asked, his own exhaustion limiting his response to the most basic.

Tim replied, “Someone nabbed him as a civilian. Who would want to do that?”

Bruce zoned out as Dick and Damian’s shouted around him. His own mind was flipping through a catalogue of possibilities. 

“Who knew?” Damien said, slamming his fist on the table. “Father, who knew that Jason was back?” 

“Someone who knew he was Red Hood. Only one person I know of who knew that,” Dick said. 

“Joker,” Tim growled. 

“Joker is safe in Arkham,” Bruce answered.

“Then someone the Joker would have been able to babble to. Another rogue,” Tim said.

When Bruce was silent, Damian shoved his way back from the table, stood up and crossed his arms. Damian’s problem-solving frown crossed his face, and after a moment, he uncrossed his arms and said, “I need someone to take me to Jason’s neighborhood. I have an idea.” 

An hour later, Bruce and Damian were crossing a quiet street and wading through bushes. 

“Damian, what are we doing?” Bruce asked.

Without looking back at Bruce, Damian said, “I sometimes followed him when . . . well, I followed him here at least twice. He liked it here.”

They popped out of the bushes to find themselves on the bank of the channel, and when Bruce sucked in a sharp breath, the air tasted cleaner here, like the water was washing away some of the grime of the city. The bank was wide in one area, and a long, crumbling oak log laid across it. There were the busy docks in the distance, but the water here seemed calm, gently lapping against the shore. Even the traffic noises from the street behind them seemed quieter. 

“Did he read here?” Bruce asked.

“Yes.” 

Bruce closed his eyes and pictured it, Jason sitting on the log with a beat-up copy of a novel, probably Victorian, reading with the sounds of the water hiding the sounds of the grimy city behind him. He opened his eyes again and Damian was searching the ground. “You know it’s been a week,” Bruce said softly. 

Damian ignored him and began scouring the area. 

They found a dart. 

Back at the Manor, Dick and Tim were in the Cave, going over the same footage and files Bruce had scoured the night before. They didn’t find anything.

That night Alfred set bowls of pasta and salad in front of them and they all ate, the air thick with despair and the food, usually so full of spice, tasting like cardboard. 

Tim finally spoke up. “Someone knows who Jason is? Except the dart isn’t anything special. If Joker told a rogue then he probably knows all of us. Except, since Joker doesn’t like people messing with Bruce directly, they could be after what they can get.” 

Damian looked up from where he was doodling on a napkin with a pencil he’d clearly smuggled to the table. “If it’s random, that’s a problem.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. 

“There’s one way to test that,” Tim said.

Bruce closed his eyes. “No.” 

“Wait,” Dick said. “What? How?”

“No,” Bruce repeated. “We have to find another way.”

Damian and Dick caught up at the same time. “It would tell us,” Damian said.

“It’s a good idea,” Dick added. 

“It’s a terrible idea,” Bruce said, setting his silverware down and leaning forward. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Tim groused. 

“You want each of us to go out in public and see if we get snatched,” Dick said.

“If they took one Wayne, they’ll take another one,” Damian said.

Tim stopped his glass halfway to his mouth. “Okay, you do know what I was going to say.” 

“I repeat,” Bruce said, louder, “This is a terrible idea and I won’t allow it.” 

Alfred came in and started clearing plates. “We are at the end of our rope, as it were,” he said to Bruce. 

“I can’t put the boys in danger!” Bruce snapped.

Alfred simply raised an eyebrow and waited for Bruce to hear what he was saying. It only took a second.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know I put them in danger every night. This is different.” 

“It’s not, though, Bruce,” Tim said quietly. “We’ll be prepared.” 

“Not if they just killed him!” 

Everyone stopped. 

“Bruce,” Dick said. “I don’t think they’d just kill him.”

“We would know,” Damien said. “They’d make it public if they killed a Wayne.” 

Bruce pulled in a long breath. He would be happy if he never heard the phrase ‘killed a Wayne’ again in his life. 

“Think for a minute, Bruce,” Tim said. “We put subcutaneous trackers in. We swallow a tracker. You and Al and maybe we get Clark involved, you’re tracing us from the start, and we’ll end up captured for maybe a few hours. Chances are good they’ll take us to the same place, and –“ 

“We go different places,” Dick said, “Better chance that they won’t get all three of us.” 

Bruce sighed. “I suppose it’s what we have. He’s been gone more than a week.” They might not have killed him right away, but the possibilities of what they’re doing to his already traumatized son make his breath stutter.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bats are found, recovery is made, and a problem is solved.

They made the plans and hid the trackers and Tim got swiped two days later, like the villains were watching for that very opportunity. The dart pierced his skin and he went down, out cold, and when he came to, he was cold and lying on the cement floor of a large cell. There were bars in front of him and his arms and legs seemed to weigh forty pounds. He blinked and lay still for a moment, letting the nausea from the poison dart settle, preparing for what he might find. 

He was in a standard-looking cell, with a silver sink and white toilet in one corner and a canvas cot pushed against the cement wall. There was a figure huddled on the cot, and Tim stood up, hoping. He stepped close and his stomach dropped. “Found him” he whispered to himself.

Jason curled in on himself, arms clenched around his stomach like he was trying not to be sick, and his eyes were wide, glassy, and unseeing. His hair was greasy and his skin was sallow and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He trembled uncontrollably. 

Tim leaned over and pressed his wrist to Jason’s forehead. “Fuck,” he said, and pulled his hand away. Jason was feverish. “Jason. Jay, what have they done to you?” 

Jason didn’t move.

Tim turned around to get a better look at where they were, to figure out what was happening. 

Outside the bars of the cell was a clear walled lab, a sterile white room with a table and a lot of medical equipment. There was a door in the back of the room that looked like it might be cold storage. The room they were in was already too cold for comfort. For now, though, Tim turned back to Jason, who was feverish and thin and shaking apart. He’d been gone almost two weeks, and his cheekbones were more pronounced, and his shirt hung off him loosely. 

The vacant stare was even more worrisome than the obvious starvation.

Tim reached down and pressed his hand to Jason’s shoulder. The cavalry should be getting here soon, and he needed to figure out if Jason was mobile. “Jay, we’re getting out of here. We’re going home, but I need to know what they’ve done. Can you stand?”

Jason didn’t even acknowledge Tim, and just trembled on the cot.

The door to the lab opened and answers slotted into place.

“Freeze,” Tim said.

“Red Robin – or should I say Tim Drake-Wayne?” The mad scientist said, as cool as his name. “Thank you for being part of my grandest experiment.” 

Tim frowned. Freeze only stirred up trouble if he thought he could get closer to bringing back his wife, and why he’d be interested in Jason suddenly became clear. Jason shivered on a cot behind him because clearly Freeze had been using his body for his crusade. His interest in Tim wasn’t so clear.

“I’ve got a few things to try now that I’ve taken all I can from little Robin over there. Joker was clear that I couldn’t kill him or your dear old dad, but he didn’t say anything about another Wayne. You’ll be my grand test subject!” 

Oh. Shit. Tim crossed his arms and glared. This would probably suck for him if the others didn’t show up soon. Plans, though. Trackers and plans and rescue. Keep the bad guy monologuing. “I don’t like the sound of that, Freeze. What could Hood have given you?”

Laughter filled the room. “Sooo many things, little bird. His blood was a mine of information and ideas, his body gave me samples galore, his senses – stealing those showed me how to take things away and how to give them back.” He paused, then growled, “Or not give them back.”

Tim caught Freeze glancing at the cold storage room. 

“His resistance to some toxins and vulnerability to others has been immensely useful,” Freeze went on. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to kill him,” Tim said.

“I didn’t. He’s not going to die in here,” Freeze said with a shrug. “If he dies after I dump him back where I found him, well, that’s not on me, is it? Besides, Joker can burn in hell if it means I get her back.” He paused and gave Tim a sinister smile. “You, on the other hand. No rules about you. I have formulas to test and three Robins left to use. You’re attempt number one!” 

Jason didn’t move behind him, and worry bubbled through Tim’s chest – for both of them. 

Bruce had better get here soon.

**< ><><><><><><><><><><>**

“It’s Freeze,” Bruce growled. They all stood in front of the main computer in the Bat Cave, staring at Tim’s tracker information.

It was a testament to their differences that Dick’s first thought was, ‘Thank god, we can get to them quickly,’ while Damian exclaimed, “Of course it is! Father, we should have thought of that right away. Jason returned from the dead.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Freeze’s Holy Grail.” 

“Plan? Come on, Bruce,” Dick said, bouncing on his toes, “We have to go. We have to get them. If he’s moved on Tim, then he needs something else. It can’t be good.” 

“All right,” Bruce said, pulling up schematics. “These are the latest ones that I have.” 

It took a couple of hours to plan, and Babs and Alfred were in on it, too, and none of it was quick enough for Dick. His imagination ran away from him, thoughts of Tim and Jason strung up in a lab of wires and drugs and Mr. Freeze looming over them and – 

“Master Richard,” Alfred said gently and put his hand on Dick’s arm and squeezed. “You will get them back safely.” 

Dick blinked and looked into his grandfather’s sharp eyes. They were focused, clear, and determined. He nodded. “Yes,” Dick replied. “Yes. Okay.” 

“Suit up,” Bruce said before he disappeared into his own changing room. 

An hour later they were each in position around Freeze’s lab. Dick followed instructions and the three of them were inside in less than ten minutes. Getting inside wasn’t the hard part, though. Getting Jason and Tim out in one piece would be harder because Freeze always held tight to anything that he thought could help him bring his wife back.

Dick and Damian were on retrieval duty and Bruce was going to handle Freeze. 

When Dick and Damian found the holding cell and lab, Dick’s heart froze for a moment at the sight. Tim was shirtless and still as a brick on the silver lab table in the center of the room, his face slack and pale in a way Dick never wanted to see again. Jason lay on a cot in an adjacent room, but his eyes were open and blinking.

Tim’s kind of stillness meant something horrible, so Dick rushed to the table and his little brother. There was no pulse. He took a deep breath and slipped into CPR and its rhythms. He blocked out who he was doing this for and he blocked out the desperation that he could feel coming off of Damian in waves behind him and he blocked out the noises from Batman’s fight that seeped into the room from the warehouse behind them. He focused on breathing for Tim and yelling for Damian to grab whatever he could so that maybe they could figure out how to help Jason, too. 

After an eternity, Tim coughed, and Dick sat back and held his own breath while Tim’s body caught back up to what it was supposed to be doing all along. The air in the room was cold, so Dick pulled Tim close and tried to warm him as best he could with words and his own body as Damian stood by and watched. He’d moved to the door and had clearly decided to stand guard as best he could, and Dick wanted to cry with relief at the way this family could band together to do what each of them needed. 

“Robin,” he called, and Damian turned. “They’re going to be alright,” he said, and Damian’s eyes cut over to where Jason lay, still and wide-eyed and clearly not hearing anything around them. Dick tapped his comm. “Oracle, we have the two lost birds, but we need medical backup at the Cave. Make sure Agent A knows that Red Robin required CPR and Red Hood is . . . catatonic. Awake but unresponsive and clearly suffering malnutrition and neglect.” The words sounded as cold as the air around him, and all of this was counting on Bruce handling Freeze behind them. 

Tim grabbed Dick’s arm and whispered, “The computer. Get the files. Freeze was trying something weird with Hood. Get the records.” 

Dick nodded and lay Tim back on the table. When he stepped to the computer, he closed his eyes for a moment and said, “Oracle. A little help here. What should I take?”

He pulled out a flash drive and inserted it before he followed Barbara’s instructions through the system and a download. When it finished, he yanked the drive from the computer just as Bruce stepped into the room behind them.

“GCPD is on its way,” he growled before he looked at Tim and Jason and took a deep breath. “Do we have what we need?”

Damian said, “I have the supplies from cold storage and Nightwing has the files.” 

Tim’s eyes were closed, and he was taking measured breaths as Dick scooped him into his arms. Across the room, Bruce pulled Jason into a fireman’s carry and they all headed back to the Batmobile. The walk and the drive back to the Manor took two lifetimes too long as Dick held Tim tight and brushed his hand through his dark hair, hoping that whatever stopped his brother’s heart was really out of his system. He wouldn’t feel right until Tim was sleeping peacefully in his own bed again. 

That took about two hours. Leslie was waiting with Alfred when they got to the Cave, and Dick laid Tim on a med cot and stepped back to let Alfred lean in and check him over. 

Alfred spoke softly to Tim while he checked his vitals, attached an oxygen tank to a cannula and made sure Tim was breathing steady. Whenever Tim’s breath hitched, Alfred and Dick both tensed. Behind them Barbara was sifting through files and Leslie and Bruce worked over Jason, trying to figure out why he was awake but clearly unhearing and not even feeling their touch. 

“Dick,” Tim called, his voice airy and weak. Dick leaned over and brushed his hand through Tim’s hair again. 

“Yeah, little brother?” Dick said.

“Freeze said something,” Tim started, then paused to take a deliberate breath. “Something about taking Jason’s senses away. Something about stealing them and giving them back.” He held Dick’s gaze and Dick marveled at the way Tim’s determination shone out of his eyes in such a familiar way. Near-death experiences had nothing on Timothy Drake-Wayne.

<><><><><><><>

In his dream that night, as he slept in a chair in Jason’s room, Damian was back in Freeze’s lab, watching. 

Tim lay still on the metal table, Dick leaned over him, pressing into his chest. “Dammit,” he grunted as he performed CPR. 

Damian had never seen it done, despite his own training, and he swallowed his own fear as the brutality of it shocked him. He turned to Jason, who was clearly alive, but not any more aware than Tim was. He was lying flat on the cot in the cell and staring at nothing, his breaths shallow and short, his hair slick with sweat. Damian was useless. He couldn’t lift Jason’s bulk, and they couldn’t move Tim if he was dead. Damian swallowed. He couldn’t help. He couldn’t help his brothers and he couldn’t help Bruce and he couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch. 

He woke with a gasp and Dick leaned over him.

“It’s okay, Dami. You’re safe,” he said, and he reached for Damian. Oftentimes Damian stiffened in Dick’s embrace out of embarrassment, but tonight he leaned in, grateful for his older brother’s willingness to try and help. He grabbed Dick’s shirt and pulled him close.

“Tim died,” he whispered, because he didn’t want to wake Jason and he didn’t trust his own voice, either. 

“Oh, kiddo. No, he didn’t,” Dick said. “His heart stopped, and we got it started again. We were on time and we were there for him.”

“ _You_ were there,” Damian growled, and a whine escaped his throat. He trembled against Dick’s body. 

Dick held him tight and rubbed his back. “We did it together, Damian. We went in together and I couldn’t have gotten there on my own. Bruce couldn’t have done this without both of us, and you kept me safe so I could help Tim. You were there, too. You took care of your brothers.” 

Damian looked over Dick’s shoulder at Jason, tucked under the covers and still sleeping, pale against the sheets. “Do you think he’ll be alright?” He mumbled into Dick’s t-shirt. 

Dick leaned back and looked Damian in the eye. “I don’t know, but I know that Bruce and Leslie are doing everything they can with the information we got from the lab and I know the best thing for Jason we can do is make sure he has people who love him nearby when he does come back to us.”

Damian nodded as Bruce came into the room and stood next to Jason’s bed. Bruce had dark circles under his eyes and a dark bruise on his chin. In his black turtleneck and black slacks, he looked like he was made of shadows, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he watched Dick set Damian gently back down in his chair. 

“Barbara found a formula in the files,” Bruce said, and he leaned over to the IV line next to Jason and pressed a syringe of fluid into it. He watched the monitor behind Jason’s bed as he spoke. “Freeze was experimenting, but Leslie thinks that it wasn’t permanent, based on the notes she found. We’re going to try this, but I need to stay in case it triggers anything else.” He looked over at Damian. “You can go check on Tim, but I want you to go to bed after. It’s been a long few days.” 

Damian frowned, but before he could say anything, Dick stood up and scooped him out of his chair.

“Come on, squirt. Let’s go check on Timmy,” he said and promptly threw Damian over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. 

As they left the room, Bruce sat down next to Jason, picked up his hand, and pressed it to his cheek. 

Damian was definitely exhausted because he had to reach up and wipe tears from his cheek as Dick carried him from the bedroom. 

Alfred was in Tim’s room, and Dick and Damian only stayed long enough to let Dick give Tim a hug and for Tim to tell Damian that he was tired, but feeling okay, before Dick whisked Damian out of the room again. “I don’t need a babysitter, Grayson,” Damian growled as Dick carried him down the hall to his room. “I’m thirteen.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick said, “You’re thirteen and we’ve had a shit night. Let a big brother tuck you in, won’t ya?”

Damian didn’t protest. It wouldn’t help. Instead he took a quick shower, threw on some sleep clothes, brushed his teeth, and crawled in bed. He was not surprised at all to find Dick already in his own pajamas and stretched out in Damian’s bed. Damian crawled in, turned out the light, and pressed himself to Dick’s warm side. “If you snore as badly as you did last time you slept here, I’m shoving you off the edge this time.” 

Dick pressed a kiss to Damian’s head and nodded. “Sure thing, kiddo. Your bed, your right to shove people out of it. Now go to sleep.”

Damian didn’t even have time to answer before he obeyed Dick’s order.

**< ><><><><><><><><><><><>**

Jason slept under sedation. When it wore off, his eyes opened, wide and filled with terror, and there was no response when they tried to reach him. Leslie suggested they sedate him to give his body a chance to fight whatever Freeze had loaded him up with, but she also wanted Jason to not be afraid. They were flushing his system with IV fluids, and Leslie hadn’t ruled out blood transfusions, either, but insisted they weren’t there yet. They kept him under, and Bruce kept watch. 

The room was a guest room on the main floor of the Manor, where it was easier to get the monitors and IV lines and other equipment into it, and it was one of Bruce’s favorites. It had warm fall-orange walls and dark, mahogany furniture. It was the one he’d given Tim at the beginning, when he was just sleeping over here and there before Bruce and Alfred realized the level of neglect his parents were actually performing. Tim had picked it because ‘it looks like someone likes it’ – his own thirteen-year-old words that broke Bruce’s heart a little bit. 

Bruce sat in a comfortable maroon wing-back chair near Jason’s bed. 

When the door to the room slowly opened in the middle of the second night, Bruce didn’t have to look to see who it was. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he admonished quietly as Tim crept into the room wrapped in a quilt and half asleep. When he leaned against the chair Bruce sat in, he nodded and didn’t answer. Bruce let him stand for a moment, but then he pulled Tim into his lap like a child. He wrapped him in his arms and Tim leaned into Bruce’s chest with a sigh.

“I’m cold,” Tim muttered, and burrowed against Bruce like a puppy. 

Bruce leaned over to pull another blanket from a stack on the floor and wrapped it around Tim’s shoulders, brushing Tim’s hair down as it tickled Bruce’s chin. “I remember the time it happened to me,” Bruce said, “I couldn’t get warm for a week. Alfred said it was psychosomatic.” 

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck,” Tim replied. 

Bruce held Tim tighter. “That’s definitely true.” 

They sat quietly for a moment, then Tim twisted a little so that he could see Jason. “Will he wake up soon?”

“We’re keeping him sedated for a bit. Leslie thinks it’s best.” 

“Freeze said he ‘stole his senses.’ That sounds like a nightmare,” Tim said.

“That’s why we’re keeping him under.” 

Tim nodded and relaxed a bit more in Bruce’s lap. Thankfully the chair took most of his weight, and Bruce could just relish in one of his kids needing this comfort from him again. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it a little bit. The reason for it left a bit to be desired, though. “How are you feeling?” he asked, and stroked Tim’s hair again. 

Tim’s voice was quiet, but it was firm. “I’m okay. It had to be done.” 

Bruce’s hand stilled in Tim’s hair. He couldn’t keep the growl out of his voice. “I almost lost you. That wasn’t supposed to be the price for getting Jason back.”

Tim turned and put his head on Bruce’s shoulder. “I know, Bruce,” he said, and his breath was warm against Bruce’s neck. “I’ll be okay, though. Dick and Dami were there for me. You got us all out. It worked and we’re safe.” He paused and smiled against Bruce’s skin. “I’m just cold.” 

Bruce breathed deep and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, and he rubbed Tim’s back. They sat quietly, and pretty soon Tim’s breathing evened out and his body slumped against Bruce and he slept. Bruce finally dozed off, too, and when he woke, Tim was gone but the blanket was tucked around Bruce’s shoulders. 

The next morning, Leslie came by and reduced the sedation. She left a syringe to add to Jason’s line in case Bruce thought he needed it, and she waited for a bit, but Jason slept on. Before noon, she squeezed Bruce’s shoulder and left for the clinic. An hour later and Jason’s breathing picked up and his body tensed. 

His eyes flew open and that horrible look marred his face again, but for a moment, he stopped. He blinked and held his breath. He clenched his hands on the sheets, pressed his palms to the bedding for another moment and then Bruce moved. He pressed his hand on top of Jason’s and it was like he touched him with a live wire. Jason jerked away and a strangled yell tore from his throat.

“Jason!” Bruce said, but it was clear his son couldn’t hear him. He grabbed Jason’s wrist and started tapping, holding him still despite his attempts to thrash away. 

.--- .- ... --- -. .-.-.- / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / ... .- ..-. . .-.-.- / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / .... --- -- . .-.-.- / .. - .----. ... / -... .-. ..- -.-. . .-.-.- / .. .----. -- / .... . .-. . .-.-.- / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / ... .- ..-. . .-.-.-

_Jason. You're safe. You're home. It's Bruce. I'm here. You're safe._

He repeated it. Again. Jason stilled and took in a deep, shaky breath. He reached for Bruce and Bruce gave him his hand. 

Jason tapped.

-... .-. ..- -.-. . .-.-.- / .... . .-.. .--. / -- . .-.-.- / -... .-. ..- -.-. . .-.-.- / .. / -.-. .- -. .----. - / ... . . / --- .-. / .... . .- .-. .-.-.- / .-- .... .- - / -.. .. -.. / - .... . -.-- / -.. --- ..--.. / .. ... / .. - / .-. . .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / -.-- --- ..- ..--.. / -... .-. ..- -.-. . .-.-.-

_Bruce. Help me. Bruce. I can't see or hear. What did they do? Is it really you? Bruce._

Bruce told him again and added that they were safe, that Freeze had given Jason a bad drug, that it was washing out of his system and Leslie was keeping him safe. The tension bled out of Jason’s body and he dragged another shuddering breath in, but his grip on Bruce’s hand was still tight.

He blinked heavily and closed his eyes. -.-- --- ..- .----. ...- . / --. --- - / -- . / -. --- .-- ..--.. _You've got me now?_

.. .----. ...- . / --. --- - / -.-- --- ..- --..-- / .--- .- -.-- .-.. .- -.. .-.-.- _I've got you, Jaylad._ Bruce stroked the back of his hand and kept it up until Jason’s hand finally slipped out of his. 

An hour later Dick came in and said, “Dad, you need to sleep in a bed. I’ve got him.”

“No,” Bruce answered. “I’ve got him. You can stay, though.” 

Dick sighed and sat down in a chair on the other side of the bed. “He’ll be up and about soon, and Tim is resting, too. All’s well that ends well?” 

Bruce nodded, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of Jason. His hair was slick with sweat, and Bruce watched him carefully, ready for when he woke next. While he hoped Dick was right about good endings, he could never be sure when it came to Jason. 

With Jason, sometimes a good ending turned into a bad beginning.

**< ><><><><><><><><><>**

Tim was still freezing. He had three blankets piled on his bed and Damian and Titus were laying practically on top of him while they all played Kirby’s Epic Yarn together. Even concentrating on the cheerful game didn’t warm him up. 

“You cut it again,” Damian muttered. “Are you even trying?”

Tim threw his controller down. “Now might not be the best time for a game, Dames. My concentration’s kind of shot.” 

Damian sighed and picked up Tim’s controller. He set it back on the console and closed out of the game. “Okay. So what do you want to do?”

Tim leaned over and scratched Titus’s ears. “Ugh. I want to get warm.” 

Damian was quiet for a moment and then he said, “When it happened to me my mother gave me a particularly warm, spicy tea that helped. Would you like me to see if we have anything close?”

Tim swallowed all of the layers of that sentence and glanced over at his younger brother. Damian was fiddling with a string on one of the blankets and not looking at Tim. 

“Uh, if you don’t mind. That sounds really good, actually,” Tim said. 

Damian nodded. “Titus, stay,” he said as he climbed off of Tim’s bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Do not mess with the game.” 

Tim smiled and pressed his face into Titus’s short fur. As he moved to pick up the game and defy Damian’s orders, he heard a yell. It came from the room Jason was in. Tim may have been weak and tired and cold, but adrenaline surged through his body and he scrambled out of bed and ran. He skidded into the room and found Dick and Bruce holding Jason against the bed and Bruce frantically tapped Morse code on Jason’s arm. 

Tim watched as the fight drained from Jason’s system and heard him mutter, “I can hear. I can hear. I can’t see, though. Bruce, I can’t see.”

Dick smiled, though, ever hopeful. “That’s okay, Jason. This is good. You’ll probably be able to see soon.”

Bruce ran his hand over Jason’s arm. “One at a time, maybe. That’s how it’s working.” 

Tim wordlessly crossed his fingers behind his back.

That afternoon, while Bruce finally took a break, Tim sat with Jason in his room and watched him get more restless by the hour. He constantly shifted in the bed, barely swallowed the food Alfred gave him, and refused to talk to Tim. When he dozed off, he came awake yelling and sweating, and the second time it happened, Tim leaned over and said, “Jason,” and pressed his hand to his brother’s shoulder. 

Jason surprised him and grabbed his hand, holding on tight as he caught his breath. 

“Tim,” he panted. 

“I’m here, Jason,” Tim said, and he tried not to pull out of Jason’s vice-like grip even though it hurt like hell. 

It only lasted a second and Jason let go abruptly. He pushed himself back against the headboard of the bed and pulled his knees close. 

“You okay?” Tim asked. “Do you want some tea? Alfred said to offer you something called Tomato Mint tea, but I wasn’t sure if he was serious.” 

Jason snorted into his knees and shook his head. “He’s serious. It’s pretty good, but no, I don’t want any right now.” 

They sat quietly for a moment, and Jason muttered into his knees, “I want to go home.” 

“Jay,” Tim said, and tried to quell the disappointment in his voice. Jason didn’t need that right now.

“I know, I know,” Jason said, and he sat up and pressed his palms to his eyes. “I can’t see. I should stay here.” 

“Well,” Tim answered, “You’re also coming off of captivity and Freeze wasn’t doing your body any favors by pumping you full of weird drugs and not feeding you much. I think Leslie’s still a little worried.” 

Jason didn’t answer right away, but after pulling at his hair a little and then tilting his head to the ceiling, he said, “Someone can stay with me. I don’t even care if it’s Bruce. I just.”

He paused and Tim waited. 

“I just want out of here,” Jason whispered.

Tim remembered all the times Jason’s refused to come to the Manor since he came to terms with the family. How he’s mostly fine with the family invading his apartment, meeting Alfred out in the city; Tim even heard that he and Bruce went to breakfast at least once. “Why?” he asked. “I mean, you’re tolerating us in your space, why not stay here until you’re better?” 

Jason sucked in a sharp breath and then growled, “I just want to go home. To my home. What the hell is wrong with that?”

Tim shrugged. “I guess I’ll ask Bruce.”

“You don’t have to ask Bruce! It’s my home. I want to be there. You can’t keep me here!”

Tim drew a deep breath. “Can I go get Dick? I can’t get you out myself, Jason. I don’t have the energy for this.”

Jason dropped his knees to lay flat on the bed. “Why? What happened to you?” 

“I’m okay. Just let me get Dick.”

“Tim, what the hell happened?”

“It’s okay, Jay. We used ourselves as bait to figure out where Freeze was keeping you and I was the one who got snatched. I’m okay, but I can’t deal with getting you home by myself. Just wait here.” Before Jason could protest, Tim stood up and headed down to the kitchen, where he figured someone would know what to do about this. 

Dick and Alfred were in the kitchen. Tim collapsed onto a chair and put his head on the table. The kitchen felt like a long walk today.

“Tim?” Dick asked, and he leaned over and rubbed Tim’s back. “Are you okay?” 

“Master Timothy, when is the last time you slept?” Alfred said.

“I’m okay,” Tim muttered. “Jason wants to go home and snapped at me for suggesting that maybe he shouldn’t. Can you deal with it, Dick? I’m really tired again.” 

Dick and Alfred shared a worried look, but Tim ignored them. He was too busy trying not to fall asleep on the table. He hardly startled when Dick scooped him out of the chair and into a bridal carry. 

“Back to bed with you, Timmy,” he said, and the next thing Tim noticed was Dick tucking the blanket on Tim’s bed around Tim’s shoulders. “Sleep. I’ll handle Jason.” 

**< ><><><><><><><><><>**

Dick pulled the blackout curtains in Tim’s room shut and stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Tim sleep. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the rise and fall of Tim’s chest, and he had to shake himself out of it and duck out of the room blinking tears away. Performing CPR on his little brother had made it into Dick’s top five worst moments, and Dick was a Bat. He knew worst moments. 

He passed Bruce’s room and used skills acquired as a child to open his door without a sound, and he blew out a breath at the sight of Bruce sleeping soundly. Dick’s skills didn’t always work, and if he did manage to check on Bruce, it was because Bruce was completely wiped out. Closing the door, he steeled his shoulders and headed for Jason’s room. 

He made some noise in the hallway as he shot a text off to Leslie before heading in to see his brother. He threw the door open loudly and stepped dramatically into the room. “I hear rumblings that say you’re being a moron. Is it true?” 

Jason’s chin snapped up and he growled, “I want to go home, Dickface. I’m feeling fine. How is that moronic, asshole?”

“Can you see again?” Dick asked seriously. 

Jason deflated. After a pause he said, “Instead of a big dark blur, I see a big bright blur.”

Dick barked a laugh and Jason actually smiled. “I understood that reference,” Dick said, and he sat down next to Jason on the bed. He knocked Jason’s hand away from where he was picking at the IV still in his arm. “Stop messing with that. Leslie might still want access to your veins. She was still running fluids and nutrients yesterday.”

Jason sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. “I can do all this at home, Dick. That’s all I’m saying. Please take me home.” 

Dick looked over and took stock of his brother’s pale face, his slumped shoulders, his vacant eyes. “Jason,” he said. “Why? We can look after you here.” 

Jason leaned over and put his face in both his hands. “Please take me home, Dick. I don’t like being here like this.” 

They sat quietly for a moment and Dick reached over and ran his hand in circles over Jason’s back. 

Jason slid closer and dropped his head onto Dick’s shoulder. “I’ll get you to help me set up my place for no vision. Hell, one of you can stay with me if you’re that worried. It’s really just cooking that will be a pain, and I’ll bet I’m better in the next day or two. Come on, Dick.”

Dick’s phone chimed and he looked down to read Leslie’s text. “Okay,” he said. “I didn’t check with Bruce yet, but I can take you. Leslie asked one of us to stay with you, though. Just in case those drugs Freeze shot you up with have any surprises. And you have to leave the IV port in.” 

Jason looked up from Dick’s shoulder. “Really?”

Dick nodded. “I’m going to wake Bruce and tell him. He’s not gonna like it.” He’d do it anyway, though. Within reason, Dick would do anything to avoid fighting with Jason ever again. Not that he’d give Jason that kind of ammunition vocally, but he was determined to give Jason what he wanted when he could. Dick wasn’t his parent. He was his brother and he was determined to act like it. 

Jason dropped his head back to Dick’s shoulder. “Yeah. I know.” After a moment, he asked softly, “What happened to Tim?” 

Dick closed his eyes and images of Tim lying deathly still on that table flashed through his mind.. “Freeze stopped his heart. Was going to test some sort of regeneration serum on him – we think that’s why he nabbed you. This sensory stuff is just extra. He wants his wife back and was using Tim as a test. I did CPR and Tim’s gonna be okay, but he’s still wiped out from the whole thing.”

Jason sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Shit. Shit. Are you sure Tim’s ok? That sort of thing can cause trouble, and Tim’s already an idiot about his health.” 

Dick couldn’t help his laugh. “Yeah, he is. Leslie’s keeping an eye on him, too, and he’s out of the field for a few weeks for sure. We’ll all make sure he’s not too much of an idiot.”

Jason sat and fidgeted for a moment. “So can you take me home? Soon?”

Dick sighed. “Okay. Let me go get cleaned up and tell Alfred and Bruce. You know Al’s gonna want to send a bunch of food home with you. We’ll probably have to deal with at least a minor freak out from Bruce, and I’m getting Damian to come help whether he wants to or not.” 

Damian did want to come. Bruce wanted to come, too, as it turned out. 

Bruce sat next to Dick in the kitchen, drinking a green concoction that Dick didn’t even want to smell, and frowning. “I don’t like him going home already. He still can’t see. We still don’t know for sure what this drug does.”

“No, Bruce,” Dick said. “Tim needs you here, and Jason needs some space. If it’s more than a couple days before he’s back to normal, then maybe. But stay with Tim and let Dami and I handle Jay.” Dick took a sip of coffee. “You’re right, and I get that, but I’m taking him home.” He waited and didn’t have to wait long.

“You think he should stay here but you’re taking him home,” Bruce said flatly. 

“Yes.” 

“Dick, he could still be sick. He could be blind indefinitely. He should be here where he’s safe.” 

“I’ll keep him safe, Bruce, and I don’t only want him safe. I want him happy. He’s not happy here.”

“Why not! Why does he hate it here? We’re treating him right! We’re taking care of him! This is his home!” Bruce clenched his hands into fists and started to stand.

Alfred stepped close and put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, pushing him back into his seat. “Master Bruce. You left home for several years as a youth. I couldn’t get you to step foot here.” Bruce deflated and there were tears shining in Alfred’s eyes. “You were safe here and this was your home. Eventually you realized that and came back to me. Perhaps we should be patient with Master Jason and let him come back to us. We cannot keep him here against his will. Leslie says it’s all right. Master Dick will keep a close eye on him and I’ll make sure he’s got good food and you can check on him when you need to do so.” 

Dick sipped his coffee and the tension in the room dissolved as Bruce nodded.

“Damian and I will take care of him, Bruce.” 

“All right,” Bruce said. “All right. Take him to his apartment. One of you stays with him at all times, though. Until he can see again.” 

Dick nodded and stood. He carried his mug to the sink and rinsed it out. “I’m going to get myself and Damian packed, and Leslie wants Jason to leave his port in his arm and to bring him by the clinic day after tomorrow for a check-up.” He turned back to Bruce. “I imagine he’d be fine if you wanted to come check on him tomorrow.” 

Bruce shrugged and Dick was struck by his uncertainty. It wasn’t something he was used to seeing on Bruce. “Come by tomorrow, Bruce,” he said. “It’ll be good for both of you.” 

Bruce took a deliberate breath in and blew it out slowly. “All right, Dick. I will.” 

Dick smiled and nodded at Alfred and headed back to Jason’s room to tell him the plan.

**< ><><><><><><><>**

Jason held onto Damian’s shoulder as they made their way up to Jason’s apartment that afternoon. The hallway smelled musty and old, and Jason honest-to-goodness tripped on a piece of ripped up carpet. 

“This place is garbage,” Damian muttered as he kept Jason from face-planting in the hallway.

Jason tried to swat his head and missed. He snapped anyway, “Hey. It’s my garbage, though. Shut up.” 

Damian was silent and there was the sound of Dick messing with Jason’s locks, and finally they made it inside. It smelled familiar - a bit like cinnamon and yeast. Damian led Jason to the couch and pushed him into it. Jason felt like he could melt into the cushions and sleep for days. 

“I’m gonna make a grocery run, Jay,” Dick called from the kitchen. “Alfred sent leftovers and said he’d be by with more tomorrow, but you need drinks. I’ll get orange juice. What else do you want?”

“Make sure it’s real orange juice,” Jason replied. “Also grab Sprite and Milk and bread for toast.”

“Will you get some cranberry juice?” Damian called. “If I’m to stay here, too.”

“Sure, Dames,” Dick answered.

“I’m gonna sleep,” Jason mumbled. No one answered, so he let himself drift off.

When he woke, he still couldn’t see, but he heard Damian say to Dick, “Checkmate.” He turned to the sound of their voices and startled at the light from the kitchen.

“Hey, Dick,” he called. “I can seriously see a light blur now.” 

“Great!” Dick called from the table. 

“Can you finally get up and stumble to your own bed, Todd? I’m tired,” Damian said. 

“Dami,” Dick said. 

“What? It’s almost midnight. He slept through dinner and I’ve been beating you at chess for three hours.” 

Jason laughed. “Does Dick ever win?”

“No,” Damian replied.

At the exact same time, Dick said, “Yes.”

Jason shook his head and stood up. He navigated his way over to the table carefully, only stumbling once. “Couch is yours, short stuff,” he said. 

The chess pieces clinked together as Dick swept them into the box and Damian scooted the chair back to stand. The sirens outside the window were faded, but the walls rumbled with the bass of a passing car. Jason blinked at the kitchen light and turned until all he could see was darkness again. He turned back to the light. 

The microwave ran and the metallic jangle of silverware told Jason that Dick was fixing him food. “Uh, Dickie, where are you going to sleep?” he asked as he slid a chair out and sat down. 

“Your bed is a king, Jason,” Dick replied, like the answer was easy. 

Jason frowned. “And?” The answer wasn’t easy.

“Just tonight, Jason. Damian will go home tomorrow.”

“I kick,” Jason replied, “And you snore.”

“You will cancel each other out,” Damian called from the couch. “Be quiet and let me sleep.”

“Don’t you usually stay up all hours for patrol?” Jason snapped.

“And when I don’t patrol, I expect to sleep,” Damian said.

Jason frowned but heard a plate set down in front of him.

“Eat, Jason. This is all temporary. We can make it through a night,” Dick said. 

They did. Barely. Jason came up yelling around two in the morning, which was pretty normal for him, but he couldn’t see. Anything. He liked to use the identify five things trick Roy taught him, but he couldn’t fucking see. The sheets bunched in his fingers and Dick was up instantly, rubbing his back and talking to him. He sucked in deep breaths and Dick pulled Jason’s hand to his chest. Dick’s heart beat against his palm and Jason finally managed to calm down. He gripped Dick’s hand tightly until he slipped back off to sleep. 

When Dick came awake screaming for Tim an hour later, Jason wasn’t sure the night would be salvageable at all. Jason ran his hand through Dick’s wavy hair and pressed himself to Dick’s side. “Dick, he’s safe. Dick. Tim’s safe, okay? He’s back home and safe.”

“NO,” Dick yelled, “No, he’s dead. He’s dead.”

Jason felt Damian land on the bed and heard him say, “No, he’s safe. You saved him. You saved him.” 

“Wake up, Dick,” Jason said, as firmly as he could. “Wake. Up. Tim’s safe.” 

Dick drew a shuddering breath and Jason felt him pull Jason’s hand into a hard grip. “He’s safe?” 

“Yes,” Jason said. “Damian is here. I’m here. We’re both telling you he’s safe. We can call him, but he’s been pretty tired lately and I think we should let the poor idiot sleep.” 

Damian chuckled. “He’s definitely an idiot.” 

That got Dick to smile. “Yeah. Okay. I’m awake. In my dreams you guys are nice to each other.”

“Tt.” 

“You know better than that, Dickface,” Jason said. “Ugh. Go back to sleep, Damian.” 

“Can you see again so I can go home?” Damian said as he climbed off the bed.

“Shut up. No.” 

“Both of you go back to sleep,” Dick said. “Sorry I woke you.” His voice was rough.. 

Jason pulled him down to the bed and draped his arm across Dick’s back and was asleep again in minutes. 

He woke to the sound of Dick and Bruce talking and the blurred outline of his bedroom door. He stumbled out of bed and made his way without stumbling to his kitchen. “It really is a big, bright blur now,” he stated as he sat down at his kitchen table. “Hey, Bruce.” He put his head down on the table. Bruce’s black turtleneck swam into view as Bruce sat down next to him and rubbed his back.

“How are you feeling, Jay?”

“Tired. Vague outlines. I can see your turtleneck but not really much else.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky,” Dick said, and Jason could hear the grin in his voice.

“Very funny,” Bruce replied, and kept rubbing Jason’s back.

“How’s Tim?” Jason asked. 

Bruce stopped rubbing for a second, then started again. “He slept a lot yesterday, so Leslie came out this morning and did a few tests. She says he’s okay, though. We made a physical therapy plan to start building his endurance back up.” 

There was a tap on the table. “Jason. Coffee,” Dick said, and a cup was pressed against his hand. 

He sat up and gripped the mug in both hands. “I can have coffee?”

“One cup, the doc said,” Dick answered. “Then lots of water. Lots and lots of water.” 

“I found books for you,” Bruce said.

“What?”

“Audio books. I sent a couple links to your phone and figure we can listen together. There’s a mystery on there that’s new but is supposed to be rather Victorian in style. It got good reviews.”

Jason blinked.

“Also, I like your apartment. A lot.” 

“Uh, thanks?”

Jason and Bruce sat in his living room and listened to an audio book until Alfred came by in the afternoon with lunch. The warmth in the room was nearly overwhelming. 

“I like reading better than listening,” Jason grumbled as he sat down at the table. 

Bruce agreed, and lunch was a pleasant banter between the three of them. When it was clear that Jason could make out basic shapes and colors, Bruce agreed that he could stay on his own as long as someone came by and checked on him and he kept his phone with him. Thank goodness for voice commands.

Jason slept a lot, and a few days later his vision was back fully. Leslie gave him an all-clear diagnosis but insisted on blood work for the next few weeks to make sure. The family stopped coming every day, and Jason figured that was a good thing, except for the hollow feeling in his chest that only seemed to grow. 

**< ><><><><><><><><>**

After a couple of weeks, Bruce could finally take his eyes off of Tim for a few minutes at a time when they were in the same room together. Tim insisted on helping with cases but he usually tired out by late afternoon and once or twice was pliable enough to even let Bruce carry him up to bed. Those moments Bruce stole watching him sleep safely went a long way to easing the pain leftover from almost losing Jason again and watching Tim get loaded onto the plane limp in Dick’s arms.

Jason finally had his sight back, too, and Bruce slept better knowing it. Jason went back to avoiding them most of the time, but the boys said they’d gone back to dinner once or twice a week at his apartment, and Bruce managed to steal him away to the diner again a few days ago. Things were back to his family’s definition of normal. 

His study was his favorite place in the Manor for several reasons. It was far enough away from the den and dining room to be quiet, he had pictures of the family scattered throughout the room so that he saw them wherever he looked, and the window looked out onto the front drive of the Manor grounds, so he could see anyone coming in. When he saw Jason on his motorcycle pull up to the front door and idle for a moment, he stood and moved to the window to watch.

Jason finally turned the motorcycle off and climbed down, and he carefully pulled his helmet off and stashed it on the bike. He turned and stared at the front door so long that Bruce worried he was dissociating. Finally, though, he moved to the front steps and sat down. He put his head in his hands and Bruce found himself moving without thought.

He pushed through the front door and Jason didn’t move, so he sat down next to him and waited for a few moments. He was greeted with silence. 

“Jason,” Bruce finally said. “Are you all right?”

Jason shrugged, but stayed quiet.

“Jay, do you want to come in?” 

This time, Jason grabbed his hair and put his head on his knees.

When Jason was a kid, it may have taken several tries, but he’d eventually land on the right question to ask. “Jason, why won’t you ever come inside the Manor?”

This time Jason sat up and drew a shuddering breath. He looked up and Bruce saw dark circles under his eyes and a pallor that suggested insomnia. “I don’t hate it here,” he started, and his words were strained.

“Good. This is your home. I don’t want you to hate it.”

Jason blinked and his eyes shone with tears that didn’t fall. “I don’t hate it. I miss it. I loved it here.” 

Bruce drew a deep breath. “Okay. I’m glad you loved it.”

Jason nodded. “It’s just.” He stopped and hugged his knees. “It’s stupid.” 

“I doubt it. Sometimes our brains don’t make sense to us, but that doesn’t make it stupid.” 

Jason nodded and his words were muffled by his jeans. “When I was with Talia, I had moments where I didn’t believe her. Where the Pit rage wasn’t there and her words about you replacing me didn’t make sense. Like I knew you wouldn’t replace me, even if you had another kid. Like moments where I could be rational.” 

Bruce held his breath. Jason never talked about his time with Talia. Never. 

“In those moments,” Jason said, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I used to dream of coming back here. Of walking up these steps and ringing the doorbell and watching your face when you opened the door and watching you be happy to see me. I wanted you to be happy to see me.” He drew a shuddering breath and looked up at Bruce. “I wanted Al to be there and Dick, and for them to hug me and pull me inside and fix a meal and laugh and have – have a” his voice dropped off and he put his head back down.

Bruce felt like he’d been punched in the gut and tears sprang to his eyes. “Have a what, Jason,” he whispered.

“A proper reunion, Bruce. I wanted a fucking reunion and instead I tried to kill you and Tim and now I can’t come home.”

“Yes, Jay, yes you -” Bruce started.

Jason interrupted with a snarl. “I don’t – I don’t want to come back as the fuckup who finally learned his lesson and now is welcomed back to the family.” He pulled a ragged breath. “I just wanted – I just wanted to run home and be home and have this place be the home I ran to again. Now it can’t be. Now – now the Manor is a reward for good behavior, Bruce. That’s not what I want it to be. I want it to be where I belong, not a fucking reward.” 

Bruce pulled Jason into his arms, surprised and grateful that he was allowed. He wrapped his arms tight around Jason’s broad shoulders. “Jason,” he said, finally pushing apart and pulling Jason’s chin up so they were eye to eye. “This place is not your reward for good behavior. It’s not. You should have been welcomed home from the beginning. When you were caught in Pit rage and anger, I should have brought you home to heal, but I pushed you away because I was frightened, and you weren’t the boy I remembered. That was my fault. Mine. Not your fault. Don’t you understand?” he asked, and Jason frowned and turned away.

“No, Bruce. I fucked it all up.” 

“Talia and Ra’s fucked it up, Jason. Then I did. Not you. Never you. If you come inside – if you come inside and stay for a while and have a meal with us in the dining room and play video games with Tim in the den and watch a movie with Dick and Damian in the theater and help Alfred in the kitchen like you used to, that’s _not_ a reward for you.” 

“Of course it’s a reward! I want it! I _want_ to be home.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, and pressed his palms hard against Jason’s arms. “The reward, though? It’s mine.” He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. “Coming inside _isn’t_ a reward for you because it’s what you deserved all along, Jason. It’s a reward for me for finally coming to my senses and treating you like the son you are to me. The son you’ve always been, even when you came back raging and on fire. It’s _my_ reward, Jason, not yours, and I’m sorry for that. But – but I want my reward. I want you home where you belong. Where you deserve to be.”

Jason’s breath came in a gasp, and he leaned in and grabbed Bruce’s shirt and wrapped himself around Bruce again in desperation. His sobs shook both of them, and Bruce held his son, rubbing his hair and back and telling him over and over that he belonged until Jason cried himself out.

When Jason was quiet again, he pulled out of Bruce’s arms and wiped his face with his hands.

“Jason,” Bruce said, and he took Jason’s face in his hands and looked into his son’s bright eyes. “Will you come inside? For me?” 

Jason blinked and Bruce saw green flecks in his blue eyes, like a light flickering in and out, but then he nodded, and Bruce would swear his eyes settled back to blue. 

“Okay, old man” Jason said with a small smile. “I’ll come in for you.” 

Bruce nodded and stood, and Jason stepped across the threshold, into the Manor on his own. 

Later, Alfred and Jason worked together to fix Tim’s favorite dinner and Bruce sat at the kitchen table and watched. 

Dick sat down across from him. “He’s really home,” he said quietly.

Bruce nodded and looked over at Dick. “I don’t deserve it, but I’m going to take it.”

Dick smiled. “We’ll all take it,” he replied, and the moment settled in Bruce’s chest like a warm glow.

In the background, Jason’s laughter rang out as Alfred teased him over something, and Bruce sighed deeply, like he was getting a lungful for the first time in ages, and sipped his coffee and enjoyed his reward.

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for sticking with this story!
> 
> Please NOTE: I am not well-versed in the comics
> 
> Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading this.


End file.
